Who Wants to Live Forever?
by aroseofmanyleaves
Summary: "She was falling apart, and he couldn't put her back together. All he could do was preserve the bits of her that were left." Haymitch's story, from the very beginning. New chapter up now. ON HIATUS - SEE INSIDE FOR DETAILS.
1. His Games: One

_This is my first Hunger Games fanfiction, and is my longest fanfiction to date. Some of the details might be a bit iffy, but I hope you enjoy it. :-) The second chapter will be up by this time next week._

The rain in the Square did nothing to lighten the mood as the willowy five foot woman, made taller by three inch heels, graced the wooden stage and stood in front of the large crowd. The Mayor of District Twelve perched nervously on the edge of his plush seat, well aware of the fact that any of his two daughters and two sons could be chosen as tribute. There was no protection for his offspring, or for any of the children living in their District.

The kids of the District, from ages twelve to eighteen, stood in two different packs in the Square; on the left hand side was the girls, and on the right, the boys. The woman, who acted as escort, was known as Mara, and had been in her position for just two years, looked anxious and worried and her voice was shaky as she spoke into the microphone, every camera staring at her, awaiting her announcements.

It was even worse this year, it being the Quarter Quell, seeing as four tributes were being chosen rather than the usual two. The Capitol were a disgrace to most people, and what they were doing to their citizens was absolutely despicable. Most wanted, so dearly, to say something, to stand up to their government, but rebellion was punishable by death. Everyone knew so from the story they told every year before the Reaping. All stories. Everyone is a story.

He stood, in the midst of around two hundred other sixteen year olds, staring at the stage, his eyes wondering over the chairs that pretty soon he might be placed in. He had taken tesserae for him, his mother and his younger brother, just nine years old, too much of a child to be considered for tribute. His name was in there twenty times, too many than was sensible, but not as much as some others that he knew.

As usual, the ladies went first, and Mara tentatively called out the name Joules, a girl he recognized from school, but was in the year above him, and then Maysilee Donner. The whole crowd blew into uproar as the sixteen year old girl slowly made her way to the front of the Square, and the Mayor seemed fraught with despair, and was restraining himself from crying out and running to her. It had always been horrific when an official member of the government's children got picked.

Maysilee took graceful breaths and scrunched her face up to disguise how she was really feeling. He had never really spoken to her before, but they sometimes got paired up in class. She seemed strong enough to hold herself together for these Games. The girl Joules looked close to collapse, but at least she hadn't cried. That was the worst thing you could possibly do at a Reaping; you didn't half lose a lot of possible sponsors.

But he wasn't worried about them. He might be when this was over, but for now he was looking after his own skin. Mara seemed fraught with terror at her job as she pulled out the first of the boys names; escorts normally had to be confident, but she was a tad useless. She had a right though, the escort before the last one had been beaten to death when the tribute was so unprepared for the Games that they stepped off the platform before sixty seconds was up and was blown to bits.

The first name called was Adam, a thirteen year old kid who looked kind of skinny and a bit of a weakling, but he nodded his head and calmly made his way to the stage, looking in sympathy at the Mayor who was biting his nails at the back of the stage, darting looks at his daughter who was trying to keep all of her emotions in. Adam caught sight of his mother's eye, in the audience, and shook his head, trying to tell her that crying wasn't an option.

His breaths were beginning to be visible as the rain increased, and he saw a great number of people leaving to go home, now that they were sure that their children wouldn't or couldn't be picked. The camera crews were complaining loud enough for him to hear, but they certainly seemed a little entertained by the fact Mayor Donner's daughter had been chosen. That will be entertaining for all of Panem.

'And the last tribute chosen for the 50th Annual Hunger Games is...' Mara began, picking out a small bit of paper from the fishbowl, unwrapping it from the black tape, 'Haymitch Abernathy!'

He sighed out, and felt the cameras all turn in his direction. It wasn't all that shocking, he had expected this. He made his way through the crowd of boys, although he was close enough to the front not to be irritating for anyone, and he felt a few seventeen and eighteen year olds pat him on the back and squeeze his shoulder. Of course they felt bad for him, he was sixteen and was going to be launched into an arena with forty seven other people, all of whom wanted to kill him.

He looked the part of a tribute so much that it was hard to believe he hadn't been styled beforehand. He had short, tousled blonde hair, and calm blue eyes that concentrated all of his intelligence. His height was average, but he was muscly and strong, and already quite good at hunting. He was clever, sly, sarcastic, but family orientated, and he didn't want people to get hurt. If more people would join him, he would be the sort of person to reboot and start up the rebellion again. He just wanted a better world.

As he climbed the steps to the stage, what had just happened really sunk in. He was going to have to leave behind mother, and his brother, and Noe - maybe never see them ever again. Change was bound to happen; he would be trained to kill the people he met, even people he knew from his own District. The hairs on his arms stood up and shivers shook his body, and he clenched his fists tightly to prevent it from showing. The rain was a good cover-up in this instance. He hated this, he didn't want to be part of this kind of thing. But hey, no one had the choice, did they?

He sat down on his seat at the front, and began, for the first time, to size up the opposition. He was going to be fine with people like these, it was an awful thought, but it was the truth. The rest of the process continued as was normal, and before he knew it, Haymitch was being herded like cattle over to the Justice Building, where his mother and his brother were already waiting for him. He wondered how they had got here so quickly.

Before he knew it, his mother was hugging him senseless, crying her eyes out and begging him to try and win. He assured her he would try.

'Mum, I'll be alright. You have to make sure he goes to school, and make sure there's enough food, okay? If you don't promise me then I'll just worry the whole time I'm there,' he said seriously, although there was a hint of humour in the latter of his sentence.

His mother was shorter than him; a small, mousy woman with hair to match. Her clothes were made of what she could afford to buy, and her shoddy stitching was obvious. She had spent most of their money trying to keep them going when his father died. She did a good job though, and he wasn't going to lecture her - she knew how important food was.

'Don't worry darling, I can take care of him just fine,' she murmured, and patted him on the cheek, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

His brother was just a year out of being too young to understand what was going on, so he shook his hand formally and said nothing, too upset to try and say goodbye.

'Make sure you show up those Capitol idiots,' his brother whispered quietly and he smiled timorously, checking the rest of the lavish hall for whether anyone was listening in, 'Make them look stupid. Make them see that they can't own you forever.'

Haymitch patted his brother on the head and hugged him closely, feeling a lot of love for his sibling at this moment. He was a quiet kid, but he wasn't half intelligent. He wasn't brawny and sly, but skinny and kind and he was a great person to talk to. He would miss him in the few weeks he was away. If he didn't come back, his brother would look after his mother, and they would be fine.

'Don't worry, I'll look after her,' his brother whispered and with that, and a last kiss on the cheek and hug from his mother, Haymitch's family disappeared. There was still twenty minutes before he had to leave, and so he made himself comfortable, and fiddled with a piece of string in his pocket. He didn't really mind killing someone if they tried to do him in first, but he didn't fancy being responsible for murdering forty seven people. Not being arrogant here, but he was pretty sure he was the one people would come after. The strong ones from weaker Districts always got targeted first.

Suddenly, with twelve minutes to go, someone appeared in the doorway and came running over to him. He immediately saw who it was and stood up, and opened his arms and clutched onto her as she wrapped her arms around his torso, resting her chin on his shoulder, and twirling the strands of his blonde hair around in her fingers.

'You'll be okay Haymitch. You're going to be fine,' she whispered into his ear, smiling kindly, stroking the back of his head, making him feel so much more halcyon than he had before. Her name was Noe, she was only a year younger than him, and he really did believe that he loved her. She was beautiful to him, she had long dirty blonde hair, and she was about two inches shorter than him.

'You sure about that? There's forty seven other tributes in there; twelve Careers who will all be working together in one huge pack,' he replied quietly, voicing his concerns for the first time. She pulled away from him and smiled widely, her eyes twinkling. 'You're going to be fine. I know you can do it,' she reassured him, kissing him gently on the forehead. She hit him on the arm and grinned, 'You got to promise me you'll win, eh?'

He smiled at her. He knew she wasn't going to come close to breaking down because she really did believe he was going to win. And who was he to even think about letting her down. 'I promise I'll win,' he said clearly, and she hit him again.

'Ow, what was that one for?' he complained loudly and she smirked. 'That's what I'll do if you don't,' she muttered, placing her hand on his chest.

'If I don't win then I'll be dead,' he said obviously, but she shook her head. 'No, they'll send you back to me, that'll be more painful than being killed in the arena,' she muttered, and she clipped him fondly on the ear and kissed him again on the forehead.

Mara appeared in front of the couple and hurriedly interrupted, trilling along with, 'Come along Haymitch, we've got to go. The train is waiting!' She smiled unconvincingly at the two, and then gave them ten seconds to say bye. That was never enough, but it was better than absolutely nothing.

'I'll come back for you, I promise. I'll be back,' he breathed into her ear, and he kissed her chastely on the lips before hugging her tightly and beginning to move away. Before he left though, she ran towards him and pressed something into the palm of his hand and called, 'Use it for your token. Think of me. I love you, fool.'

He didn't even have the opportunity to respond as he was ushered out of the door towards the train, but he looked back through the final gap and briefly saw Noe collapse to her knees and start to sob her heart out, weeping because of the fact he might not come back. He promised he would, but with forty seven other people, what kind of chances did he have? His chest constricted at the sight, and he opened his palm to reveal a tiny metal pin badge, with the words cofiwch fi imprinted upon it. Remember me.

He stepped onto the train, for the first time catching sight of his mentor, Bay. He was an older man, a competitor from the second Hunger Games, before the Careers were formed and before the richer Districts knew that they had an advantage with training. Haymitch hadn't seen him during the Reaping, but then again he had been too busy concentrating on whose name had come out of the bowl. Haymitch hadn't been alive when Bay had been Victor, but he had always seen him as quite inspirational. He went to introduce himself, and said, 'Hi, I'm Haymitch,' not knowing what else he could possibly say.

Bay turned around as the train began to hurtle off, and they both stumbled at the speed, but his tired eyes rested on Haymitch's youth and he smirked. He seemed to know Haymitch's plan to get him to like him, as it were. 'You don't need my help lad. You're going to be fine,' he croaked, and his breath stank of tobacco. Smoking wasn't something that many people in District Twelve could afford - tobacco was exclusive for the Capitol and then just rich people.

With that one reply, Haymitch knew he was going to be pushed to the side and ignored in favour of the others who were weaker than him. Screw mentors, screw escorts, screw the Capitol and the rest of Panem; he was in this alone from now on.


	2. Two

_Just so you guys know, I really hate this chapter, but it's a bit of a filler before the actual Games start. I know it seems really rushed, but I go into detail with this process later on in the story. I promise it gets more interesting! Haymitch's Games are not the point of this story – someone else's in a few chapters time are, but Haymitch is heavily involved if that makes sense _

Joules Bull, the first tribute who had been chosen, didn't look like a typical resident of the Seam. Her skin was not pale or slightly tinted grey from the lurking coal dust, but a luxurious caramel colour, like she had been in the sun for too long. Burnt sienna ringlets fell down by her cheeks, halting before her shoulders, which made her stand out when she used to walk through the market place. She had deep brown eyes, darker than her hair, and her height was slightly above average for a girl of her age in District Twelve. Her Reaping had been completely overshadowed by the Mayor's daughter's name having been pulled from the glad bowl. She had remained calm as she sat on the stage, awaiting the names of the people she might have to kill if the situation arose, but when he saw her on the train, Joules looked frankly terrified. She didn't, in his opinion, look like she was going to last particularly long.

Adam Young looked like he was made out of relatively the same mould; not in looks, but in terms of talent for the Hunger Games. He was a meagre thirteen year's old, one of the unfortunate ones who got chosen when they were only young, and he was even worse for being picked this year, when there was double the amount of other tributes planning on shedding his blood inside the arena. The kid was skinny and scrawny, and he reminded Haymitch of his brother, but he was a lot taller, with already greying hair. His eyes were also grey, but a darker shade, more like coal dust than ash. He pretty soon turned out to be intelligent, but shy, not enjoying his fate.

The most surprising tribute for the second Quarter Quell was Maysilee Donner, the Mayor's daughter. Everybody knew that the Capitol sometimes like to make things more interesting by stitching up Victors or Mentors or members of the Government by getting their children to be picked out, and it had happened a few times before, and had _coincidentally_ occurred in District Ten as well, they discovered when they watched the Reaping. A girl and a boy, twins, were selected, and happened to be the children of one of the Mentors. But Maysilee Donner was different from Joules and Adam – she looked like she had a fighting chance. She had long blonde hair which was plaited down her back, with the usual grey eyes. She was strong and intelligent, and she looked determined to win. She was fighting competition.

That just left him. He liked to think he had a good chance in these Games, and he had the reason to get home as well. Just let anyone try and stop him from getting home; he wasn't fond of killing, but he would deal with it when he reached it.

He had eight days before being launched into the arena, in which he was to be tutored by Bay in survival, be given interviews and make-overs, and be generally prepared. But whilst many of the other Districts had four or more Mentors, so they could be tutored one-to-one, District Twelve only had one and that was Bay. He had succeeded in the second Hunger Games by hiding in a tree for a few days, surviving on sap and soft bark until he actually needed other food, and there were only six tributes left. It had been a clever strategy, just letting everyone fight and kill each other, but it failed when he was shot out of a tree. He survived, but the arrow had permanently damaged his shoulder which caused him pain even now. Haymitch had known from the very beginning that he, being a boy, and the oldest tribute, would be pushed to the side.

On the first night, they watched the Reaping's, to discover more about their opponents, and it was probably the most disheartening thing Haymitch had ever had to watch. When it finally came to District Twelve, Haymitch was quite pleased with his performance, glad that he had prevented himself from letting any of his emotions out. It was always good, at this stage, to remain calm and collected so no one in Panem could write you off as being a worthy investment.

The next day was the opening ceremony, which passed much without incidence, but the day after was when training really began. He had never seen the inside of the training hall before, seeing as it was never broadcast on the television, but it guessed it was in a different place this year, or the hall had been expanded in order to accommodate the number of tributes. The majority of the Careers were absolutely _huge_, but the girls from Three looked just as dainty as Joules. Haymitch took time to look around and evaluate most of the people, deciding to concentrate on taking down the Careers. If he could get rid of them, then the rest of the Games would be child's play.

His training that day was more getting to grips with using all the weapons, for he had not used many of them before, having never set foot in the forest before to hunt. His mother had just bought meat and supplies from the Hob instead. Haymitch spent two hours at the archery station, repeating the same shot over and over again until he could shoot straight, hitting the centre of the target board with ease. After lunch, he spent four hours with the knife and sword station, where his tutor proclaimed that he had one of the best talents with a knife she had ever seen. He had good aim, something which had been made obvious in the archery training.

That evening Bay spent most of his time in the main room with Joules, Adam and Maysilee, teaching them all the basics of staying alive in the Games, and Haymitch dearly wanted to join in because he didn't have a clue what his strategy was, but it felt like they were some sort of exclusive group which he didn't have access to. He knew Bay didn't have time for him, but he could've at least tried harder.

The next few days of training were exactly the same as the first, and the other tributes from richer Districts began to realize how good Haymitch actually was. In his final training session with the Gamemakers, he performed well, and was glad to score a nine, which he believed to be quite a respectable score, but he was sure that it had been degraded due to his District.

That evening, Haymitch found himself completely exhausted after the past five days. It had passed so quickly, and he hadn't been able to find a time to just sit down and relax and breathe properly. On the day of arrival, Mara (who was still hounding him all the time, asking how he was) had shown the tributes the roof, but had specifically instructed them not to go up there. Well, telling someone not to do something was like giving them the order to go and look there. So he did.

The air was fresh and clean up here at two hundred foot, although he was sure it would be polluted down in the lower town by all the motorcars. His simple shirt gave him no protection against the chill, but even so, he lowered himself down onto the roof and sat, staring out across the city. In a weird way, it was beautiful, although it was all prosthetic and fake, and looked like every building was made out of some sort of metal. There were thousands of people, all like ants, scurrying around even at the late time, and he could see a bright burst of colours, like someone had exploded little sweets all over the floor, coming from the crazy clothes and fashion.

He didn't know what to think about the Hunger Games. He despised them, and everyone who enjoyed watching them, but he had never understood how frightening it was for the tributes. Everyone expected them to be brave and brilliant, and they were mocked and ignored if not, but you cannot imagine what it's like to run around, being hunted by people of the same age or younger than you, until it's your turn. The thing he fears the most is how painful death might be. If he gets caught by one of the Careers, then it's guaranteed to be painful, and he doesn't want Noe or his mother and brother to see that. He doesn't want his death to linger around them forever.

He didn't know how long he was there for, but after a while of being almost frozen to the spot, someone graced him with their presence. They settled down beside him, wrapping their arms around their legs to keep themselves warmer, but he noticed that they were wearing a jumper which was substantially more than his protection.

'You can't be a recluse forever. You've got to join in the conversations at some point,' Maysilee Donner stated calmly, not diverting her attention from the majesty of the city. He sighed out before replying with, 'You know Bay doesn't need any more people to look after.'

'You're not a burden Haymitch, you've got just as many rights to life as the rest of us do. You've got to try,' she implored, and he shook his head at her.

'We're all going to die anyway so why waste time?' he asked rhetorically, and by her small gasp of horror, he realized he probably shouldn't have said that. He was just so angry.

'You might have given up, but I certainly haven't,' she declared harshly, standing to her feet and attempting to go back inside, annoyed at how brief and rude he had been in their short conversation. She had only been trying to get him to join in, to give him some help and support, but he had completely rebuffed her efforts.

Haymitch grabbed hold of her sleeve and pulled her back down to sit with him again. She almost shrugged him off and didn't bother, but he seemed pretty desperate. He was grateful, _deep_ down, for her words of confidence and friendship, but the illusion was ruined by the realization that he was going to be locked inside an arena with the objective of killing her.

'I don't want to die either, you know,' Maysilee said quietly.

'I know that. None of us do,' he replied.

She looked at him, and stared hard. 'Would you kill me if you had to?' she asked, questioning his morality, but already knowing what his response would be – it was exactly the same as it would be if he had asked her the same question.

He didn't even consider his answer. 'Yes.'

**-HungerGames-**

The interviews came around soon enough, and before he knew it, Haymitch was being herded onto the stage, the first from District Twelve. During his four hour interview preparation with Bay yesterday (which had been exceedingly awkward he hastened to add), they had collaborated to create his new persona which he would display in his interview and during the Games. They had decided on sarcastic – for obvious reasons – but also intelligent and sly. It wasn't the worst alter-ego he had ever had to live up to, and he was pretty sure he could manage to stay in character.

The cheers from the audience were not what he would call enthusiastic seeing as they had had to sit through forty four interviews in one sitting; the audience thought that was bad – it was worse for the tributes that were anxiously waiting to be called. Caesar Flickerman seemed joyous and delighted as ever, his manners not having abated through the one hundred and fifty four minutes he had been sitting through (three for the forty four tributes and then twenty to for the thirty second change between each person).

They spoke animatedly, like old colleagues, until Caesar enquired as to what Haymitch believed of there being twice as many tributes, and he thought back to his training and replied, 'I don't really see the difference; they'll all be just as stupid.' The audience tittered and laughed out loud, and he smiled, feeling that maybe he might just get some sponsors. The interview was greatly successful, but that did nothing to settle the huge uneasiness nestling in the bottom of his stomach.

He didn't sleep that night, but then, he supposed, no one did. He could hear Maysilee pacing the corridors, unsure of what to do with herself, and he could hear Joules crying into her pillow in the room next door. Everyone was a mess. And then, like the whole week had passed in the space of merely a second, forty eight children were deposited inside the arena, each with the sole intention of getting themselves home.

_Ladies and gentlemen, let the 50__th__ Annual Hunger Games begin!_


	3. Three

His forehead was damp with sweat, and he brushed the ends of his barely there fringe off his face, where, from the liquid, it immediately joined with the rest of his hair. His skin was brown and tanned, and parts of it were beginning to crack and peel off, making him seem like he was molting all over the ground like a mockingjay, as he continued trekking through the forest. His limbs were all aching severely, but he had no chance to rest as he continued to hike through the forest, his eyes darting in every direction to make sure there was no one around.

By his watch, he had been in here for around sixteen days now. Counting the cannons throughout his trip, he had discovered there were eight people left now; six Careers (two from One, Two and Four - who were all hunting in a huge pack), Maysilee Donner - the other girl from his District, and himself. He hadn't had any contact with another human being since about a week ago when he had fought against Adam, the thirteen year old from his District, who had apparently become deranged and tried to spear him. He had easily stabbed him, but with a head full of regret.

The first few days had been the toughest. After no help at all from Bay, he had been stupid enough to get caught up at the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, where, upon later hearing the cannonfire and discovering that twenty seven had been slaughtered, he recieved a very heavy blow to the arm with an axe. He had managed to stagger off with a backpack and a small knife which, if used correctly by the right person, could be very damaging.

He had managed to sprint about a mile into the forest, where he then slowed to a jog for a few hours until he was deep in the heart of the arena. From the quite helpful station during training with edible and medical plants and foods, he managed to grab hold of some moss to soak up the blood and then some sort of purple looking leaves which, with the aid of some string from his backpack, he managed to tie around his arm, and when he later checked it, the wound was nearly healed over. There was still a quite nasty scar there though.

The second day had been when he had hunted, finding there to be a nice variety of rabbit and pheasant which was quite good to eat. In his pack, he had found a huge beaker that could be filled with water, and he discovered a large resevoir where the water was pleasantly clean. Day two was easy, but when he had been resting, he had glanced to the sky and had seen the faces of seven people - the wheelchair boy from Seven, the little girl from Eleven, the two boys from Three (the girls had died yesterday), both girls from Five and one of the boys from Eight. He had been horrifed; thirty four children dead, murdered, in just two days. This society was messed up.

But on the third day, well, that's when the fun started for the audience. He was roughly awakened by the huge calls of hundreds of tiny little squeaking birds, who, when he tried to flap them away, started attacking him and biting at his flesh, their sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. Scrambling for his things, he sprinted away, with these tiny beasts chasing him until he took a few of them down with his knife and managed to use the gas cannister and some nearby wood to create a flame-thrower with the sparks of fire and burn the swarm to a crisp. That day, he bumped into the only remaining girl from District Nine who looked absolutely terrified, and he was going to kill her out of pity really, when he saw the nine tracker jacker stings in her back. Those would kill her anyway, but slowly, and so he delved his knife into her stomach to end her agony. Later on though, a great tidal wave had descended upon the entire arena.

He almost drowned that day, and it wasn't until later that he found out that two had perished in the wave. For about a week he hiked through the forest, hunting and resting and almost living a little easier than he had in District Twelve, and he was unaware of any more deaths. But that was when the same tracker jackers that had attacked the girl from Nine came after him as well. Luckily, the gas cannister-flame thrower he had created was quite useful, so he only recieved around two stings. But before he could pull the stingers out, he collapsed and the visions began. For one and a half days, he laid on the floor, and had nightmares of watching his mother, his brother and Noe all die. He awoke, battered and bruised, with an arrow in his back. He managed to yank it out, causing a steady stream of blood to pour from his skin, and patched it up with the purple leaves.

During those dreams, he really had wanted to die. Now, twelve days later, he still wished the same thing. He had suffered in the last twelve days; starvation had overcome him until he collapsed, dehydration had given him a worse headache than the time he had gotten a concussion at school, the tracker jacker stings had burst foul smelling green liquid, and the Capitol seemed to be chasing him around, sending bird-mutts, ravaged animals, crazed tributes and natural hazards after him. He recieved around three silver parachutes, full of food and medicine, but he ignored them. Bay had taken no interest in him whatsoever in the eight days they had spent together, and so why was he trying now? He was going to do this by himself. He didn't need anyone.

Now though, he was basically trekking through the forest, with no clue what to do, praying that everyone would end up killing each other until he was the only tribute left. No one could possibly find him out here, and he was well protected anyway. He had been attacked multiple times; the axe at the Cornucopia, the arrow in the back, the tracker jackers, the birds pecking his flesh, and the wave causing him to throw up numerous times. He was healing though, quite well, and he hoped he might be out of here soon. He had to get back to Noe, he had to get back to the girl he loved.

Suddenly, the ground began to shake with approaching footsteps and an arrow shot into the tree right next to his head. He didn't even have time to register before four Careers came running at him, and one tackled him to the floor, and tried to jam his knife into his collar bone. The boy was huge and had intense hold over him, but somehow, Haymitch managed to roll him off and scramble to his feet. The kid from One was surprisingly easy to push off, and that was when he noticed the dart-like thing in his neck. Right before his feet, One fell to the floor, dead. The girl from One, called Rafaela, was the only one sensible enough to run for it.

The two Careers left were two girls, one from Two, and other from Four. One of them grabbed Haymitch by the throat and rammed him into a tree whilst the other pulled out her bow and arrow - the only weapon they now had - and took a few steps back. The girl from Two who was restraining him was extraordinarily strong, and whilst he kicked and squirmed, he couldn't escape. She was beginning to asphyxiate him. What be believed would be his last though was I wonder where the darts came from, but then another flew through the air, hitting the girl with the bow just as she released the arrow which then swerved, shot through the air and settled nicely into the other girl's stomach.

Haymitch was released and he fell, gasping, to his feet before someone walked up to him, as two cannon fires went off, and offered him their hand. He tentatively looked up, and for the first time, he smiled. 'Hi Maysilee, thanks for that,' he said breathlessly, allowing her to help him up while he massaged his throat.

'Looked like you needed some help,' she replied absentmindedly, smiling a little as he hurried to follow her fast speed. The girl, who was the same age as him, looked a little worse for wear. Her blonde hair was bedraggled and filthy, and her face was covered in scratches, most likely caused by the same mutt-birds who attacked him. 'Okay, two questions,' Haymitch immediately said, beginning his interrogation, 'One, who's left now? And two, where did you get poisonous darts from?'

Maysilee shot him a knowing smile before dragging him along, his steady and slow pace making her feel uneasy. 'Hurry up Haymitch,' she hissed, and then she began to answer his questions. 'There's five of us left now; me, you, and three Careers - the girl from One, Rafaela, a boy from Two, and the other girl from Four.' It was incredible how so many had died - forty three teenagers, all who could've grown up to give so much to the world, just killed for entertainment purposes.

'And I made these,' Maysilee continued, pulling out one of the darts inside the tube she blew them through, and Haymitch immediately took a step back and raised his hands in surrender. She laughed loudly, and then slapped her hand over her mouth, knowing that to be a mistake before she calmly said, 'I'm not going to kill you. If it were any other situation I would, but we're allies now.' She made it very obvious with that tone that if he refused, she would kill him.

'Good, I need someone to talk to or I'm going to go insane,' he muttered back, but deep inside both of them, they knew how this partnership would end. Hopefully they wouldn't have to be the ones to kill each other; if it came to that though, he would let her be the one to survive. There was no doubt about that after she just saved his life.

Behind them, there was a sudden snap of a twig, and Haymitch immediately pulled out his knife and threw it in the direction of where the noise had emanated from. There was a loud groan and then a cannon shot before the pair ran over to the bushes and saw the remaining girl from Four, lying with her eyes open, dead on the ground. 'Nice shot,' Maysilee said, although it was half-hearted. This had been a malicious kill - the kind he hadn't wanted to do. He had promised himself he would only kill if he was attacked. This had been unprovoked. Sure, had the girl been given five more seconds, then he would've had reason, but it was still so wrong.

'Come on,' Maysilee said, pulling Haymitch by the elbow, away from the body of the girl from Four, 'It's getting dark, we had better find somewhere to stay where it's safe.'

They walked for about five miles before setting up a small camp in a remote part of the woods, where there wasn't even any sign of animal life, let alone humans. The Careers wouldn't come here - there was no food and no water, which, luckily, Haymitch and Maysilee had plenty of. They ate a small dinner, saving the rest for breakfast so tomorrow they could hunt in the afternoon, and then settled down into their sleeping bags; amazingly, they had both been able to retain them in the seventeen days that had passed.

'How long do you think we can stay here for?' Haymitch asked, staring up at the night sky as the faces of all the people killed today were flashed across the screen.

'I don't know,' came Maysilee's simple answer, and he could tell she was being truthful.

'I never really got the chance to say thank you for earlier,' he continued, pursuing a conversation although he was already exhausted by today, 'I think we're going to be okay working together for the next few days.'

'Yeah, until one of us has to kill the other,' Maysilee replied, her bluntness shining through. He kind of liked that though (not the idea of having to kill each other!); that even though she was the Mayor's daughter, she understood how these Games worked. She wasn't going to be faint and light about it, because it would do her no favours. She knew what she had to do to get home, and he was pretty sure she was going to do it.

'Yeah, I suppose. Sleep well Maysilee,' he replied, turning over in his sleeping bag, and it wasn't until she said the same and he heard her gentle snoring that his panic of being killed by her and her poisonous darts finally abated.


	4. Four

He was awoken by the smell of burning wood and damp, and his first thought was that Maysilee had set the forest around him on fire and then darted off, but he scratched that thought of immediately when he saw her sat over the fire, cooking some fresh rabbit meat. He sat up and rubbed his head free of the chips of wood and mud embedded in his hair. 'Morning, where did you get breakfast from?' he asked kindly and Maysilee smiled at him.

'While you were sleeping, I went hunting,' she said, and he began to protest with _Why didn't you wake me? _and other rubbish until she raised her hand and silenced him and said, 'You were almost strangled and shot yesterday. It's okay, you can have a few hours extra of sleep.' He frowned at her, but she giggled at him, and handed him a huge slab of roasted rabbit. He didn't bother checking it for poison anymore; he trusted her. If she had wanted to kill him, she would've done it during the night.

The rabbit was good and moist, and when they were both quite full (their apetites had shrunken since being inside the arena), Haymitch began suggesting ideas of what they could do today. 'I think we need to try and find the end of this place,' was his last idea, when Maysilee's patient expression turned into one of sudden confusion.

'What do you mean "the end"?' she asked, her tone suggesting him being quite mad, and he settled into a thoughtful expression and began explaining what he was going on about.

'Well, just think about it. This arena is huge, but it's got to end somewhere. Maybe we can find some way out. I mean, the walls can't be impenetrable, there's got to be some way that we can break out without either of us having to die,' Haymitch explained passionately, making sure Maysilee understood how important a theory this was. He had been thinking about this during his hiking, wondering if it was possible, but now that he didn't have to worry about more than two people coming after him (and he had a good ally), it was a feasible idea.

The moment he finished talking, a small silver parachute, similar to the two before, floated down to the ground and settled right next to Haymitch. He stared down at it, and then pushed it towards Maysilee, who eagerly opened it and found some sort of metal body armour - but only for one person. Maysilee handed it over to Haymitch, but he nodded his head and gave it back. 'I want you to take it.' By that sentence, Maysilee knew he was trying to get her home before him. Because whilst he had three people, she had a family of nearly seven, and she was needed more.

'I wonder why we got this,' Haymitch muttered as Maysilee adjusted the armour onto his body underneath her shirt. She looked up at him and raised an eyebow. 'Do you not remember?' she began in incredulity, like what she was about to say was so important that he can't not have already heard it, 'Bay told us that if we do or say something _very_ clever, then he'll try and send us something from the sponsors.'

Haymitch told her that he hadn't been informed of this and added, 'Nice of him to share something with you.'

Maysilee clicked her tongue impatiently and then hissed, 'He didn't tutor you very intensely because he thought you were the most capable out of all of us, and he didn't have time to teach all four of us. You should be flattered that Bay thought you were good enough.' Haymitch considered this briefly, but still looked angered.

'I could've done with some advice, but come on, no use debating it, we had better get a move on,' he muttered angrily, gathering up the remains of the rabbit and sealing them inside his backpack so they couldn't get contaminated. Maysilee nodded in content and stood up next to him, looking a bit bigger now that she had the armour. She looked more confident, and she took the lead in hiking through the forest, edging closer and closer to District Twelve.

**-HungerGames-**

It wasn't the issue of finding the edge of the arena that was the problem, but it was that of trying to break through it that was being ever so slightly worrying. It had taken four hours of continuous walking, not stopping for food or hydration, even though they managed to hunt down a young deer, and they had travelled fourteen miles, approximately, across the arena to reach it. But here was the real dilemma; there was a huge three metre long split in the ground, and it seemed like a huge chasm, like if you fell down it then you would never reach the ground again. The arena wall was on the other side of it.

There was little point in retreating back to the forests to light a fire to conceal themselves; the Careers didn't stand a chance of reaching them here before morning, at least. Haymitch pulled the small gas cannister from his backpack and Maysilee created the spark with the wood and they created a little fire on which they roasted the deer and ate heartily. This Game was beginning to turn into a camping trip; due to the fact of how little people there were left, there was next to no danger left. The Gamemakers would be planning something at this moment, a way of causing some anarchy.

'So, how can we get over this thing?' Haymitch finally asked, his mouth full of food whilst he tilted his head in direction of the chasm. Maysilee gave him a withering look and took another bite of deer leg and replied, 'It's an insane idea Haymitch, there's no possible way, unless you fancy falling down a bottomless pit!' Haymitch continued chewing whilst he thought up a good reply, but no words came to mind.

Night was raging across the synthetic night sky, and they both settled down for the night when the first cannon of the day shot off about a hundred metres away from them. Both almost leapt from their sleeping bags to their feet, and gave each other a horrified look. To think, had the Career nearest had not been killed they could both be dead right now! 'Christ! I wonder who that was!' Haymitch yelled and Maysilee clamped a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

'Oi, be quiet. The hovercraft is going to be here in a minute, and then whoever it is that's left will know that we're nearby,' Maysilee hissed, and then, with a hushed sigh, she continued, 'I wonder what happened. We didn't pass any dangerous animals or anything did we?' Haymitch nodded, and Maysilee realized she still had her hand clamped over his mouth, and she swiftly released him. He gasped for air, and she smirked to herself.

'Maybe it was, you know, one of them...killing themselves?' Haymitch suggested, and Maysilee gave a non-committal shrug and refuted his answer with a bout of silence. And then, once the hovercraft was disappeared from sight, taking off the boy from District Four, leaving the girl, Gabriella, from District One. And as soon as that idea popped into his head, Haymitch couldn't sleep.

'She's got nothing to lose now!' Haymitch yelled, immediately grabbing Maysilee by the shoulders and shaking her like a madman, staring deep into her face, 'She'll come after us, we've got to get a move on. She knows where we are - we've got to get out of here! We've got to cross this chasm.' Maysilee shook her head and then tried to calm him down, but he wasn't having it. There was a mad glint in his eyes - three left, two had to leave, and he was so close to home that he could taste Noe's lips upon his own.

'Haymitch, there's two of us and one of us her. We _cannot_ get across this huge gap - we'll have to turn back. We can take her down,' Maysilee said clearly, holding onto Haymitch's arm with her vice grip.

'And when we take her down, which of us will be going back home? Which of us will kill the other, or simply walk to their deaths? How are we going to face home if we have to slaughter each other? I'm not going to fight you!' Haymitch roared in her face, and she took a few steps back. He was right though - in this mad fit of rage, he was being completely reasonable. She couldn't kill him, or hurt him, she was good friends with his girlfriend. But she wouldn't stand here and let him kill her either.

'This...stupid...crater in the ground!' Maysilee shouted, 'You can stay here and try and jump across the gap, I'm going to go and try and find another way out of here.'

'Well I'm staying, I know we can use this,' Haymitch stated simply, although both of them knew that this argument was just a cover-up for their real thoughts. He wanted to stay, because he knew he could get past this tiny barrier (he had been through worse than this in the last two and a bit weeks), but she was going to go, because she couldn't. She must know she was going to her death, and he must know Gabriella would find him. It was a show for the audience.

Maysilee packed up her things, even though darkness was nigh, and they clung to each other tightly as they said goodbye for the final time. She kissed him on the cheek and went up on her tippy-toes to whisper something in his ear, something the audience could not hear.

'When you get back to District Twelve, don't let them forget me. Look after my family, look after my sister,' she breathed into his ear and then fell back down onto the balls of her feet. 'I'll see you in hell Haymitch Abernathy,' she laughed, and with that, she left.

When her figure was nought but a shadow in between the trees, Haymitch sank down and lied next to the gap. He looked down and sighed out, wondering why he was so adamant that this place was his ticket out of here. He did not know how long he layed there for, but he fell asleep and when he woke, the sun was high in the sky, beaming down upon him. In his haste to stand up, he dropped his gas cannister down the chasm, and he swore after it, but decided it wasn't that big a problem.

When it shot back up and landed at his feet, well, that was when he got a little shocked.

And then he realized what this chasm was; it wasn't a bottomless pit or hole used to trick tributes in and split up teams, it was some kind of reflect, a weakness at the edge of the arena. He could tell that it was a mistake, a simple broken fault-line in the arena which they hadn't yet fixed. And oh, this could be used for any purpose, it was fantastic. Just as he tested it some more, and laughed joyously at how brilliant this discovery was, he heard a piercingg shriek from around two miles away. That could only belong to one to one person still here.

Haymitch scrambled to pick up all his things, shoved them into his backpack, stamped on the fire to deaden it, and sprinted towards the scream. The jungle got in his way, tree roots tried to trip him up, long branches tried to blind him, small animals tried to bite him, but, after gaining many scratches, Haymitch reached where Maysilee was lying.

He could tell she didn't have much time left. Her throat had been speared by something pink and bird-like that was still retreating into the forest, and he ran over to her, and grabbed her hand and held it to his chest as she glanced up at him, her lips bloody and red, and she smiled faintly.

'Haymitch,' she whispered, her voice so faint it could be mistaken for a gush of wind, 'Long time no see.' She was joking, just as she died. He held her hand, and he felt that last surge of life spring through her veins, and then everything just came to a halt, she breathed out, and then she breathed no more at all. Her smile was still imprinted upon her face, but her eyes were glossy, staring up at something that wasn't there, and her expression was frozen in time. Her already meagre grip on his hand slackened, her strength gone from her muscles, and he knew in that moment that she was passed.

'See you and the rest of this place in hell,' Haymitch whispered in her ear, and he placed a gentle kiss to her forehead before evacuating as the hovercraft descended upon them. He grabbed his backpack and stalked off into the forest, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. He had known it had been a mistake letting her go away - he should've known that it wouldn't have ended well. But he supposed he had, and he had still let her. That would be on his conscience for the rest of his life.


	5. Five

His name had always been a part of him that held great importance, in his mind anyway. Haymitch Abernathy - he had read many history books that had been salvaged after the war from which Panem had sprung, and yet all the characters had such simple names, like George and Katharine. People in Panem were given new names, in accordance to their new world, and so each one was unique. Of course, the Capitol had to out-do the Districts but that was of no consequence.

He wondered what they might write on his headstone when he was dead. He had no doubt in his mind that he was going to be killed here by Gabriella - she had that axe which had damaged his arm all that time ago, and he had a knife, which was almost blunt. He felt horrible since watching Maysilee die - she had been the only person here who had bothered making allies with him, and because of his selfishness at staying by that damned gap, she was now dead. It scared him how quickly it had happened. One minute, she had been there, kissing him goodbye and telling him what to do if she died, and the next, she was lying there, staring up at the sky with eyes made of glass.

She had been so strong, and she had tried so desperately hard not to be slaughtered in these Games. She had been a cleverer and more sensible tribute than him, she had deserved the title of Victor more than he ever could. But he wasn't going to receive it anyway now, so no harm done.

Apart from the fact the poor girl's death kept replaying in his mind. He walked around in circles, not knowing where he was headed, blinded by the images of the blood spilling from her throat, the tiny grip she had had on his hand, the small flicker of her fading eyes as she stared at him when she died. He had always believed the Cornucopia to be the most terrifying part of the Games, but now he knew, it was dying just at the end, just before you had the chance to escape.

Every breath he expected to be his last, and he treated it like it was so, until, after walking around for about six hours, he arrived right back where he started, about a mile away from the split in the ground that had caused this entire thing. If he could hurl something down it that it wouldn't be able to regurgitate and would choke it, he would. But it was a gap in the ground that had been the reason for Maysilee Donner losing her life.

Haymitch collapsed to the ground, weakness and fatigue overpowering him, and he let his eyes fill with tears at how exhausted he was. The Hunger Games - it wasn't to do with killing or hunting or fear, it was all about power. The Capitol, the government, they were just monsters. Like the Devil come to life; Grim Reapers, showering the Districts in agony and then taking their children as well. He couldn't play up to the cameras anymore, trying to seem so confident and strong. He had to break down at some point.

And then was when the axe hit him directly in the stomach.

The pain was sudden, by immense, and he fell forwards onto his knees and wobbled, trying not to yield onto his front and embed the weapon any deeper. He felt vertiginous and as he looked up, trying to analyze the arena, scanning for Gabriella, who had thrown the axe, trying to find where she was. He caught sight of a figure in the trees, but his eyesight was completely blurred and soon enough, he fell down, but managed to divert his weight onto his side.

He wrenched the axe from his stomach, but it was caught at a distasteful angle and so he managed to tear half of his stomach open as well, so he caught glances of his stomach and his intestines. He clapped a hand to the wound to alleviate the agony, but his blood poured through his fingers, merging with the brown mud surrounding him. He could watch it forever, but his head was so discombobulated that he couldn't even stand to his feet without plummeting down again.

He was about to just close his eyes and let himself bleed to death when a picture of Noe just popped into his head; just that image of her in the Justice Building, her whole body wreaked with sobs at the thought of his not returning. That vision brought him to his feet where he finally saw Gabriella. She was already standing just a meter away, her hair matted and her body coated in bruises and scratches, the axe she had thrown into his stomach in her hands, his blood still dripping indefinitely off the edge.

She laughed at his pathetic attempt at standing, and he rested against a tree, one hand pressed to his abdomen, holding in his innards. She circled him and then whispered, 'So it's just us. Me, you and the axe.' She paused for a second, but then ran at him, roared out at how strenuous it was, raised the axe above her head and brought it crashing down onto his skull. He ducked down, and although she caught a few of the hairs on the top of his head, she just caught her axe in the bark of the tree.

He quickly fumbled with his one useable hand into his bag, but could not reach his knife before she tried to hit him again. He knew he should've carried it on his person, in his hand. It turned into a deadly killer game of Cat and Mouse. Again and again she tried to plunge her axe into him, but he always rolled over in time and avoided the sheer blade. Her blows became clumsier until he realized that that knowledge wasn't going to be helpful at all.

'Oh, won't you just stop rolling over and die already?' she screamed, but he shook his head defiantly, pulled out the gas canister and jumped awkwardly to his feet. 'Where the hell did you get that from?' she yelled, holding him back, restraining him with her weapon. He gave a grimace that was supposed to be a grin and managed to grunt out the words, 'You really don't want to know.' With that, he raised the gas canister and sprayed it in her face. She shrieked in pain, and whilst she stumbled around blindly, he winced as he dug around in his backpack and yanked out his knife.

She ran towards him, axe raised once more, and he held up the knife in his bloodied right hand and dug it into her eye socket, her face twisting into an expression of excruciating pain. That wasn't a fatal blow, but it could halt Gabriella for a few moments and give him a head start. He had an idea in his head; that crack, if it could rebound objects, then maybe he could use it to his advantage, like send his knife down and then wait for it to come up and hit Gabriella in the face or something. It was only around a mile away, he could probably manage it.

He had heard that if you unravelled the human intestines, they spread out for around twenty meters. He really didn't want to be the person to put that to the test. His hands were smeared in his blood, streaming down his arms and he stumbled through the forest, tripping and falling and stumbling as he went. After around twenty minutes, he reached the crevice and fell down to the floor. He wiped his eyes, trying to keep them open, but all he achieved was spreading his blood all over his face.

Gabriella was approaching, her left eye having been totally gouged out so she had been left with a gaping black hole in her head. As far as he could see from his position, she looked positively enraged.

'You...are going to die. Now. You're going to die and I'm going to enjoy killing you,' she hissed, and he stumbled to his feet, feeling fainter than ever before as he lost even more of his vital blood. His skin was turning whiter and whiter, until he seemed almost translucent. He wasn't going to last much longer, even if by some miracle Gabriella dropped down dead. He just stayed where he was, lifted out his arms as if to embrace her attack, and he whispered, 'Bring it on.'

The say in the instant before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That didn't happen for him; he had some sort of strange vision of his District, a million miles away from this arena. He could see them all now, his mother and brother, Noe, the Mayor and his devastated family, all the school children he had shared greetings with, everyone betting on him, all wanting him to come home. He couldn't let them down, not now when he had let Maysilee die. There had to be something he could do - he had to win, even if only for her honour, and to fulfill his promise of protecting her sister.

With an almighty shriek which wrenched him from his thoughts, Gabriella launched the axe, and with an enormous thrust of energy and power, Haymitch ducked to the floor, landing painfully on his injured stomach, and avoided it. Gabriella almost fell down as well, not from pain but from sheer anger that she now had no weapon with which to kill him.

Well, she did really.

Rebounds are always seen as bad things, but at this time, it worked exactly in his favour. The axe came springing out of the chasm, flew across his head, and before she had time to move, buried itself into Gabriella's skull. She looked at him one last time, the last remaining tribute standing in her way, and then she slumped to the ground, her eyes sparkling with the dreams of what could have been.

The cannon shot was loud and booming, but it rang maliciously in his ears as the hovercraft appeared to pick Gabriella's body up, and then another came to collect him. As soon as he was inside the ship, he heard a Capitol doctor yell something along the lines of, 'Get him to surgery, quickly! He's lost too much blood!' After that, there was nothing but dreams caused by the sleeping gas, consisting of a reunion with his District, and having to face life as a Victor. They were bland dreams; nothing compared to anything he had been through in the past eighteen days.

The first time he woke up, he was inside a hospital bed, surrounded by people in white uniforms. They told him to relax, and he was too weak to even attempt to resist, and so he did as he was told. They injected him with morphling to ease the pain still searing across his torso, and then he fell asleep once again, left with his now worsening dreams of the arena; watching everyone die, the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, running and holding his insides in as he tried to escape. And he had, he was alive.

The last time he awoke, he found himself in his bed on the train back to District Twelve. The Capitol, Bay told him, had allowed him to go home without his final interview because of how bad his wounds were. There was an insane amount of stitching which had been used to patch up his stomach, and that had been covered by many meters of bandages wrapped around his body.

Mara was there as well, watching over the conversation between Bay and Haymitch - the two Victors of District Twelve - until Bay suddenly dismissed her as they passed through District Seven. Haymitch, who had answered questions with as little words as possible, looked bemused at this, until Bay hissed at him urgently. 'Lad, you're in huge trouble right now. I had to bribe the Capitol government to let you go when you were still unconscious.'

'What?' Haymitch muttered blearily, still exhausted from events inside the arena. This whole section of his life was like a nightmare, and the whole thing looked felt like it had happened such a long time ago. His memories of it were already weak when he was awake, but in the dead of night, when only his soul was awake, he dreamed vivid images of death and blood and murder. He dreamed of the Hunger Games.

'The Capitol - you made them look stupid by using that rebound thing. That was an accident they hadn't patched up before the Games started, and you used it to win. They're the laughing stock of Panem,' Bay whispered murderously, and he glared at Haymitch, and took a swig of a bottle of brandy. Haymitch took this information in slowly, and he nodded in head in acceptance, but Bay shook him before he could go back to sleep.

'Don't you see boy, they're going to try and punish you for this! You have to watch your back because the Capitol are going to try and obliterate you. They don't care if you're a Victor!' Bay yelled, and this finally woke him up.

Haymitch stood, albeit extremely wobbily, and pulled a jumper over his body. What Bay was telling was beginning to sink in. He had believed that winning would have made him immune to any pains caused by the Capitol, but maybe not. They had always been unjust and unforgiving, but was what he had done really that bad? And then he knew - of course it was. Making the Capitol look stupid was treason.

'Thanks for the heads up Bay. I'll make sure I'm careful,' he stated slowly, and the old man nodded, knowing there was nothing else the young boy could say. He would be true to his word - but sometimes that wasn't enough, was it?

**-HungerGames-**

The Square was filled with nearly every resident of District Twelve, and the side streets and back alleys were crammed with the residents, desperate to catch a glimmer of their Victor. This had been the first time someone had won the Games since Bay had, forty eight years ago, and this was even more impressive due to the fact that there had been twice as many tributes.

The Mayor introduced Haymitch, although his eyes were teary when he read the names of the three other tributes, including that of his daughter, who had perished in the violence. He then brought Haymitch forward to give a speech about the Games, but he found himself struggling to find the words. He stumbled and paused, and thought about it, but the blank piece of paper he held in front of him was no help. The time he had been given to write something was over. Mayor Donner was about to let him off, when he suddenly thought of something to say.

'Nobody knows what it feels like to be a tribute until you actually are one. You can go through bad times in your life when you think being inside the arena would be better, but believe me when I say I would rather die than go inside again,' he began, and the cameras all fixated on him, the crowd so silent you could hear a hair brushing against the floor, 'These Games are evil. The creators, our forefathers, are cruel men to have invented such a thing. Murder in defense is just another way of killing someone, and it's so wrong. I can never hope to be myself again. These Games have changed us, our society, and I want to honour Maysilee Donner, Adam Young, and Joules Bull. Their deaths were in vain, and I shall live my life knowing that I would have preferred any one of them to survive over myself. I can never forget.'

Well he had been in trouble with the Capitol before - let's see what they did now.

There was silence, and then nothing. No applause, no cheering, no whistling. A mark of respect really. It was the first victory speech that hadn't been nothing but thanking the people of their District. He was being honest, because there was no way he was going to make the Capitol think he was sorry. He had not meant to usurp them when he had used the rebound, but now that was exactly his plan.

Three days passed before he could even speak to his family. He couldn't eat or sleep or drink anymore, something in his mind was blocking his old life from returning to him. He was just so scared now, of what the Capitol would do. The reunion with his mother and brother was the best time of his life; hugging them and kissing them and asking how they had been whilst his mother sobbed in joy at his returning to her. He felt uplifted for the first time, he felt safe here, and happy. Maybe the Games wouldn't change his life that much. How naive must he have been to have those thoughts?

When Noe walked in, the tables turned. She looked sombre and upset rather than gushing and excited, and when he attempted to hug her, she pushed him away. He asked her what was wrong, but she could give him no answer for his enquiries.

'Haymitch, I watched you in the arena. You've changed since you got back - you're angry and sad and you don't know how to live again. I don't know what to say to you anymore,' she whispered, but this was all so sudden that he didn't understand what she was trying to say. So he asked, and she sat down beside him, took his hand inside her own and whispered, 'You killed Adam, and that girl from Four and Gabriella. I can't pretend you didn't.'

'Did you really think I could go into the arena and win without killing anyone? You made me promise I would win!' he exclaimed, pulling the pin badge she had given him from his pocket and thrusting it into her palm, 'You told me to remember you, that's what kept me going! I won for you! All those people, I had to kill them to get back to you.'

She had tears, similar to the ones she had shed when she left, in her eyes, but she hissed back the words, 'Don't make it my fault. And I know you had to kill people, but, it's just...I can't live a life with you anymore. What we had was a stupid dream Haymitch. Once you were chosen, it was over.' Before he could reply, she left his side and returned to her home. She might as well have stabbed him six times in the chest and left him for dead.

Broken flesh is easier to deal with than a broken heart. All week long, he just sat in his chair in his room in the new house, and played with a piece of string, too short to be made in a hangman's noose. People came to see him, they crowded around his house, but they were too unimportant to be noticed by him. Even his mother and brother seemed to fade away into the background, replaced by the faces of Maysilee, Gabriella and Adam, and the nightmares came more often as he slept through every day, until he finally decided to do something about it.


	6. Six

_Okay, this is when it gets real. I want to say thanks to the people who have reviewed. Any more reviews would be appreciated. _

The Hob, District Twelve's version of a black market, was one of those places you avoided like the plague, or one you felt magnetically attracted to and loved beyond all reason. Haymitch was the only exception, having never been there, but realizing that if he needed something to numb the painful and gory memories of the arena from his head, then Ripper's infamous bottles of rum would do him perfectly fine. True, drinking at his age, just two weeks from turning seventeen, was technically illegal, but screw the Capitol; they had already destroyed his sanity for the rest of his life. There is no way he could ever forget the arena.

There was a long, still covering over, scar spread across his whole stomach where Gabriella had lunged at him with her axe and spilt out half of the blood in his body. He mashed his face into an expression of discomfort and subconsciously trailed his fingers across the wide cut, where he had refused to let the Capitol's surgeons fix him. These scars were a reminder, not a good one, but he wasn't going to let their fakery invade him. They had already ruined everything in his life – he didn't know how they could hurt him anymore than they already had.

The huge gates leading into the Hob were stained black and creaking, although they were used every thirty seconds that the hunters came in from the forest with their game bags full of dead deer and pheasants. Even that kind of killing, just that of a few animals used for food to feed the starving residents of this District, disgusted him now. He still couldn't believe that he had actually killed four people. It was completely ridiculous – he couldn't get the images of their battered faces, covered in blood, bruises and mutilations, out of his head. He shivered, even in the summer heat, at those memories.

Before the Games, he had never had the slightest inclination towards alcohol; in fact, he had always told himself he would remain sober for the rest of his life, not to let his judgement be addled by the toxins inside the liquid. But the Games changed everything; he couldn't remember a time when the children of the Districts lived without fear, when a time where the adults could live without fear of losing their children to the Capitol. And everything had changed for him; Noe didn't want him anymore, people pitied him, some hated him for letting Maysilee die, and some loved him for bringing them food.

The Hob was exactly as it had been described and as he had expected it to; stalls everywhere made from rotting wood looking ready to collapse at any point in time, drunkards wobbling around looking merry, homeless people begging at the side of the street, trying to pawn off old clothes and scraps of food that couldn't be sold to the butchers. Haymitch looked around in a kind of disgust, not believing that the government and even the Peacekeepers allowed people to actually live like this. He had never been rich, no one in District twelve ever had been (apart from Bay), but he had never had to live in squalor such as this.

Haymitch decided not to linger, and walked through the streets of the Hob, searching for the fifty year old woman, known simply as Ripper, who had lost an arm in a mining accident when she was twenty. But everyone here looked the same; people with missing limbs and scarred features and bleeding wounds covered by ragged bandages. He searched for a good twenty minutes, searching deeper and deeper into the stinking Hob, his head beginning to spin from the stench of rotten meat and alcohol, enough to almost put him off the buying of it, but he was quite determined. It was the only way to relieve the agony.

In the end, the sixteen year old ended up asking one of the Peacekeepers where Ripper was, and he chuckled and muttered, 'Aren't you a little young to be searching for her?' Haymitch gave him a cold, hard stare, and the Peacekeeper looked a little offended before pointing him in the right direction, sending him out from the centre of the community, towards the gates, where Haymitch supposed he must've missed the stall.

Like the Hob, Ripper was exactly as rumours had informed him. Her patchy black hair looked like it was in great need of a wash, and her skin was greasy and spotty, and there were smears of dirt and coal dust on her face. Her eyes were sunken into a great deal of wrinkles around her thin lips, but in this woman, obviously half-drunk already, Haymitch saw what he might become if he chose to buy a bottle. The thing that worried him was the voice in his head saying _I don't care anymore_.

She was currently rearranging the bottles on her stall, but Haymitch cleared his throat loudly, before calling, 'Hello. Can I grab a bottle please?' Ripper slowly turned around, and smiled crookedly, showing a mouth of mismatched and blackened teeth and raised her eyebrows. She smirked a little at the innocence and youth on his face, a youngster driven to drink, but she did recognize him. He had been on her television screen for the past four weeks at least.

'Haymitch Abernathy – what bottle do you want?' she asked, waving her one hand around her stall which was covered in bottles of rum, whisky, beer, lager and any other type of wine and alcohol available. Haymitch was suddenly astounded by what he was doing to himself. He had everything going for him; he was a Victor, he was attractive, he had intelligence that knew no bounds, so why was he trying to chuck his life away? He almost left there and then.

But then again, what could he do with his life now? Noe was gone, and wasn't coming back. He would have to go on the Victory tour in a few months' time, and then the following year, he would have to mentor the tributes. He would be doing that for the rest of his life until he died; he would have the responsibility of two young people's life each year, and probably end up watching them die on a telly screen for entertainment purposes. This was sick. He had nothing to live for anymore, he wished that he had just let Gabriella kill him.

'I'll take the strongest scotch or brandy you have,' Haymitch muttered profoundly, and he hated the pitying look that Ripper almost gave him. He could see a sympathetic smile struggling to capture itself on her lips, but she didn't give him that look. People were beginning to crowd around him, people who recognized him from the Games, and were watching him with his purchase. But there were no cries of _You should be happy – you're a Victor_, or _Everybody in the District loves you_, people trying to tell him not to do this at just sixteen, because everyone knew how utterly dead and void he felt inside. Everyone knew that he was hurt beyond belief, just a boy, damaged by the insane punishments and revenge by their so called "leaders".

Ripper handed over three bottles: one of whiskey, one of scotch, and one of brandy, and tried to wave him away without paying, but he felt so terrible for the sodden state she was living in that he paid her double, slamming down the Capitol coins, that burned like fire in his pocket, down on her wooden counter and then muscled his way through the impressive crowd that had gathered.

However the head Peacekeeper, Remus, pressed a sturdy hand to Haymitch's chest before he left the Hob, and Haymitch was beginning to think he was going to try and reprimand him. He would just fight him off if that happened – he had hurt enough people, all the families of the tributes, so how bad was one more? But Remus looked down at him and then and the bottles and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, 'You ought to go and see Bay, lad. He's not doing too good and he could probably do with some of that.' Remus nodded his head towards the bottle, and Haymitch felt his heart sinking. He had seen too much death; he couldn't deal with another one.

'Alright thanks for telling me. What's wrong with him?' Haymitch enquired, wanting to know how badly his mentor was doing before he went to see him. Sure, Bay hadn't been the greatest mentor in the world and had pretty much ignored him until he scored an eleven in his private session with the Gamemakers, but he didn't want him to die. And then, he would be the only person left alive to mentor the tributes, and he couldn't do that as it was, let alone if he was alone.

Remus grimaced. 'He's just not doing well. No one's expecting him to last much longer,' he whispered confidentially, leaning in to whisper it in the sixteen year olds ear. Haymitch groaned internally – this was just what he needed. He had promised his mother he would be back home, back at their Victor's house, in under an hour, and he had already been out for two. He had supposedly gone out for a "walk" but he knew his mother and brother had pretty much guessed what he was going out to get.

'Right, I'll go see him. He lives next to me anyway,' Haymitch murmured, and with that, he stalked out of the Hob, heading towards the hoard of Victor's houses that he now found himself residing in.

**-HungerGames-**

It was strange at how Haymitch hadn't even heard that Bay was ill; they lived less than five doors away from one another. But they didn't really speak – Bay spent most of his time indoors and Haymitch spent most of his time just walking around, wondering what to do with himself. He hadn't heard from him since they arrived home from the Capitol – alongside the bodies of Maysilee, Adam and Kristian – just two weeks ago. Nothing had really changed since then, they had both gone back to their normal lives. The funerals were just bearable, although Maysilee's was the worst and he had just managed to prevent the waterworks. He didn't like to cry; it was a sign of being weak.

Haymitch thought about knocking, but his hands were full, so he just rammed the door open with his shoulder, and burst through into the dingy hallway. He could instantly tell that Bay wasn't doing great; the man was a total neat-freak, and everything in his house was normally spick and span. But the hallway of the magnificent Victor's house was covered in dust and cobwebs, and letters were piling up by the front door.

Haymitch cautiously wandered through the damp, grey carpeted hallways, clutching onto the three bottles of liquor like both his and Bay's lives depended on them and nervously called up the stairs. 'Bay, you here? Are you alright?' he asked loudly, and he strained his eyes waiting for his mentor's response. There was nothing, not a single syllable that echoed upon the walls and reverberated back to him. Not a single sign of life in this bleak house. Not even the whispers of the people they had both murdered. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach returned, and feeling like he had leaden weights attached to his feet, Haymitch began to ascend the curved staircase, one very similar to his house.

The architects had, evidently, been hard of ideas for the Victor's houses in District Twelve. Because as Haymitch climbed the stairs, the colour of the walls, the canvases on them, were exactly the same as the irremovable pictures in his house, down to the last brushstroke. For some reason, this greatly unnerved Haymitch and chilled him to his fractured bones. Maybe in fifty years' time, after the 100th Hunger Games had taken place which was sure to be incredible (it being the fourth Quarter Quell and all), he would be dead or dying, rotting away in his bed. Hopefully not, but his future was not looking particularly bright at the moment.

Approaching the door he assumed to be that which led to Bay's room, Haymitch had to steady his grip on the bottles. Maybe since he had been told by Remus that he was unwell, Bay actually had died. He didn't want him to though, or remotely nearing dead, and he was terrified that the lack of response he had received probably meant he had already passed. Tentatively, Haymitch pushed his shoulder against the white door of his mentor's room and entered it, worried about what he might possibly find.

Haymitch almost dropped the expensive alcohol in shock when he saw Bay weakly sat up against the backboard of his bed, his torso in thick pyjamas even in the heat, and he looked meagre and ill, but not yet dead. Yet, anyway. Haymitch had never really been the optimist. He gradually walked over to him, and saw that Remus had been right about his ill of health. Like Ripper, Bay's eyes were receding into their sockets in his skull, and the previously light wrinkles had deepened, looking like crevices now, into his almost translucent skin.

Haymitch didn't quite know what to say to the man, after the way he had treated him at the beginning of the Hunger Games. Instead of greeting him, Haymitch decided on a question and raised the bottle of scotch and said, 'Fancy a drink?' Bay smiled, but it looked more like someone was dragging up the corners of his lips into a creepy grimace, and gave a small nod of the head and breathlessly, out of sheer weakness, responded with, 'I'm not supposed ta. But I've got not long left so might a' well enjoy it.'

Haymitch handed him the bottle of scotch and then twisted the lid off for him seeing as his hands were far too shaky to do it himself. Bay took a huge swig of the bottle, and a real, pleasured smile became apparent on his face. He tipped the bottle slightly and whispered, 'Thanks boy,' before taking another large gulp before Haymitch took it away when he started to look a little green in the face.

They sat for a few moments, just interpreting the silence as a peaceful time of quiet before Haymitch asked the question that both had been anticipating, 'So, what exactly is wrong with you?' Bay glanced up at him, his usually so bouncy green eyes having just faded into simplicity, and he gave a large groan. 'Cancer. Gets the best of us sometimes.'

Haymitch had never heard of cancer before but he presumed it to be something very bad to the state that Bay was in. he didn't have the heart to ask him how long he had left. 'Well, at least you've lived quite a long time,' he said cheerfully, trying to make light of the conversation seeing as it had turned off down the quite depressing path. Bay just raised his eyebrows. 'Son, it were forty nine years ago when I was crowned Victor. Second Hunger Games, none of the Capitol's posse knew what they were doing. I'm only sixty four.'

'That's not too bad though,' Haymitch persisted, trying to break through, 'You at least got me through. I'm still alive.'

Bay laughed, a sort of crackling sound like someone blowing bubbles into water, and replied, 'And look at ya boy. Turned to drink already. Nah, I was never much good at being a mentor – didn't like them Capitol folk, me.' _That goes for the both of us then_, Haymitch thought hopelessly, beginning to understand that he was going to be as good a mentor as Bay was after forty years of doing the same job. He should really look up to the old man, but there wasn't anything there he particularly wanted to end up as. Except for, perhaps, a murderer. But he couldn't help that now – all Haymitch could do was try not kill anyone ever again.

Haymitch had gotten so caught up in his thoughts that Bay suddenly grabbed his arm and tugged on it and hissed loudly, 'Make sure you mentor them kids well, boy. It's not their fault they got chose.' The passion in his eyes was obvious, and as much as Haymitch wanted to promise that he would do so, he knew he wouldn't. Bay had obviously not tried, and now he was trying to get this sixteen year old to do what he wished he had. But instead of promising, Haymitch just nodded his head and did not say another word.

'You look after that family as well. Them Capitol folk are going to come after you,' Bay croaked, having the decency to frown largely and look concerned for the boy. This confused Haymitch until he found his voice again and voiced his bafflement. 'Why are the Capitol coming for me?' he asked, screwing his face into an nonplussed expression. Bay chuckled again, but coughed afterwards, clearing the blockage in his throat, but urgently hissed, 'You defied them lad. Made them look wholly stupid by using that force field against them. They're going to want to punish you.' He stopped there, and let the horror sink in.

'You better be off then lad,' Bay said, shifting down into his bed, and closing his eyes. Haymitch was surprised by this sudden farewell, but he picked up the half-drunk bottle of scotch and began to make his way out of the room when Bay quickly muttered, 'And leave the scotch boy, it's a bit too strong for you to be starting off with.'

Haymitch smiled, but only slightly before leaving the house, being pleasantly refreshed by how clean it was outside, but still saddened by the realization that that had just been the last time that he would ever speak to Bay again. Deciding he didn't want to go home just yet, even though Bay had specifically told him to look after his family, Haymitch walked purposely past his front door and then onto his woods. But as he passed his house, he saw Noe in the kitchen with a mug of steaming herbal tea, and he almost shattered the neck of the bottle.

What was she doing in his house? After everything she had said to him, everything she had done; made him promise to win in return for spending the rest of their lives together, and she had just gotten rid of him the moment he had "changed". She was a foolish, naïve little girl, who didn't understand what it was like to be inside that arena. At that moment, Haymitch hated her, and he hated his mother as well for letting her into the house.

Just as he entered the forest, leaping angrily over the shabby barbed wire, the whole structure exploded into roaring flames.


	7. Seven

The summer had passed into the dead of autumn far too soon for his liking. The trees that had, this time last week, been stunning, covered in bright green lively leaves, were now full of crackled ones, reds and yellows and oranges that looked too much like the fire that had caused him to be here; at this triple funeral, seeing as they couldn't afford to have three separate ones.

He should've _known_ that the Capitol was going to try and get him back for how he had made them look when he had won the Games. He should've known they weren't just going to let it all slide off the plate; he should've known that they were going to come after him. But it was just so ruthless and horrendous and if they had been trying to punish him, they were welcome to come and kill him. But no, no, killing his family would hurt a hell of a lot more.

There were nearly five hundred people surrounding him, all offering their sympathies seeing as there was no one else to give them to. He didn't want them – he didn't want people to feel sorry for him, and he didn't want people to pity him anymore than they had when he had come home from the Games.

He hadn't been home or remotely near home in two weeks; he had just been sleeping in the woods, shivering in the night at the raucous memories he relived every second - the faces that appeared in his mind; those two Careers, Gabriella, his mum, his brother, and Noe. The people he had killed, and although he hadn't directly killed her, Maysilee made some appearances in his nightmares as well, yelling at him for abandoning her in the arena, alongside the shrieks of his family as they burnt alive, human torches, when the house exploded in flames. He remembered, with a shudder flooring through the whole length of his spine, that distraught moment when the house had erupted into a vicious babble of fire…

_The explosion had knocked him backwards off the fence and sent him hurtling into a tree which severely winded him. The bottle of whiskey had shattered, but the other had fallen into a pile of mud. He quickly set it aside and sprinted towards the house, leaping over the two metre high barbed wire. The heat ravaging the whole building was intense, and he felt his skin bubbling like the least dense liquid in the whole of Panem. He could feel blisters forming on his hands, but he had faced worse pains inside the arena._

_Without a second thought, he burst into the house, dodging the plinths of wood burning above his head that could fall at any second and either crush him or set him alight; just another piece of coal collected from the mines and distributed to the Capitol. Just worthless. Haymitch jogged through the house, blocking his nose and mouth with his shirt to prevent his frantic coughs as he tried to manoeuvre around the flames. They leapt up all around him, like the great dancing fire mutts he had encountered once before, and a black acrid smoke was billowing through the shackle of the house._

_The windows had all been blown out by the explosion, and the house was just one pillar from just collapsing and flattening everyone to a crisp. There was only one thing that could've caused this kind of damage: fire bombs. And guess who had exclusive access to them? Bay had been right – the Capitol was coming after him. This fuelled him with rage, and when he caught sight of his brother, only nine years old, Haymitch let his shirt fall from his grip and he ran through the flames, licking at his skin, and scooped the little boy into his arms, running back through the blazing house. He left him outside, unconscious from the fumes, knowing he was going to have to go back inside for both his mother…and Noe._

Haymitch watched, feeling his heart contracting and squeezing tightly, as three people carefully deposited his brother's body into the ground. He looked older in death than he ever had in life. The young boyish innocence was vanished. His deep brown hair was splayed with ashes and strands of tousled locks had been completely burnt away. His cheeks were still black with dust, and the burn all up his arm was not healing. Now it never would.

He had died from smoke inhalation. Despite Haymitch having dragged him from the building, the second explosion had sent his unresponsive body hurtling into the barbed wire just a few metres away. But he had been dead before his big brother had salvaged him from the building, so maybe it wasn't too bad.

His brother was like him in the way he looked, but in spirit, he was completely different. He hardly spoke, something called a 'mental Avox' caused by trauma, which must've been the death of their father all those years back. He had been bullied at school because of it, and he had been a traumatised child. But when he was happy, that nine year old, then hook him up to the mains electricity supply because he could light up the whole Capitol if he had the opportunity. But all gone now. His brother, the person he wanted to do well and be happy; now hopefully happy wherever he had come to be.

_He took but a few seconds to recover before he saw the second Capitol helicopter hovering over his home. His voice was raw and damaged, his throat burned and scorched, but he still managed to let out a cry of horror before they dropped the second fire bomb. It fell before Haymitch could register it, and, as a result, he was once again sent flying off his feet. This landing was far worse than before, having been closer to the attack, and for the first time, Haymitch thought about Bay. But his house was okay, the fire hadn't yet spread that far although it had set the two nearest homes ablaze, making the whole Victor's Village a place of complete danger and travesty. That wasn't going to stop him though._

_Not thinking about himself yet again, Haymitch leapt through the front door, just as the final splint crumbled into ashes and the house came tumbling down upon him. The wooden door frame came crashing down upon him and smacked him on the shoulder, forcing him to his knees and a huge gash to appear on his skin, seeping blood all done his arm. He coughed loudly, pounding his fists on the smoking ground as he let the toxins from his body. It didn't matter though, he had to find his mother. And he did…lying buried underneath a wall of bricks that had collapsed on top of her, a small trail if blood seeping out…_

The death of his mother had crushed him. She had been his rock, the person he went to if he was hurting or had hurt someone else. She was the one who looked after the family, struggled on as the death of her husband and his father crippled them. She did everything she could to bring the money back in, to try and fill up the hole left in their family when dear daddy died.

He couldn't even look when she was lowered into her plot in the cemetery. Apparently, her body had been remoulded beyond recognition by the bricks that had fallen on top of her, killing her immediately. At least it had been quicker for her, even though he couldn't think of a worse way to die – save, maybe, being torn apart inside the arena with the whole of Panem watching them. He shook violently, and he could not stop his hands quivering as a weak Bay clasped his hand on his shoulder and gently did his best to comfort Haymitch as he lost yet another member of his family to the earth.

Every single person stared at him intently as the last body started the process of being buried. This was possibly going to be the most tormenting of goodbyes, one that caused a spring of tears to appear in every mourner's eyes, except, perhaps, the boy who had been affected the most.

_He stood in shock, staring at what was remaining to be seen of his mother, and remained rooted to the spot before part of the bedroom upstairs collapsed down right next to him, alerting him to the fact that Noe was still in here. She was probably already dead, and although his feelings towards her were not the most positive at the moment, he would never forgive himself if he didn't find her and she was still alive. _

_Haymitch struggled through the rest of the house, jumping aside when other parts of the building fell next to him, and when almost the whole house was just flattened, burning wood splayed across the landscape, he finally caught sight of her right next to the front window. And believe him when he said Noe didn't look good. He rushed over, praying that his ideas were about to be scuppered, but as he dropped down to knees beside her, he knew this was bound to go wrong._

_Noe had been standing next to the window when he has passed, and she had evidently still been there when the first bomb had exploded. A piece of glass, large, around four inches by three was stuck in her throat, embedded deep into her skin, and she was rasping trying to breath, coughing up blood all the while. Her pale cheeks were splashed with the crimson liquid, and a large bruise was accumulating across her hairline. _

_Her frenzied eyes caught hold of his, and she grasped his hand, her whole body trembling and shaking, and she couldn't stop herself. He brushed her hair back with his hand, steadying himself and trying not to throw up. The flames were not so bad this very front part of the house, but he couldn't stay long. But he couldn't move her – that glass was in a precarious position as it was._

'_Haymitch, I'm so sorry,' she gasped, her lips turning bluer and bluer as the glass began to asphyxiate her. He tried to shush her, telling her that he forgave her and it was okay, because in all honesty what else could he say to her? 'Noe, it's okay. You're going to be fine,' he whispered, scanning the glass, trying to alleviate the pressure it was having on her vocal chords and oesophagus. She winced in agony, and he set his hands on her wrists by the floor, and she gently nodded her head and replied, 'No, no I'm not. You know I'm not.'_

_She coughed from the fumes, and a huge splatter of blood emerged from her mouth and splashed across her face. 'I was only here because…' Noe began hoarsely, but Haymitch begged her not to talk, not to put her into any more pain than was, but she was persistent and continued. 'I was here to say sorry. I was so stupid.' He shook his head, brushing his hands over her cheeks, wiping away her wet blood from her face, but Noe hastened on, her breathing beginning to falter. 'I love you Haymitch. Just don't forget me.'_

'_I won't Noe, I can't forget you. I promise,' he replied, and she looked less distraught, but still restraining how much pain she was in. He sat with her whilst the house blazed and burned and crashed to the ground, but they were protected, inside an invisible bubble. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and her breathing began desperate gasps for air. She was almost gone. He squeezed her hand even tighter, resisting the urge to beg her not to die. 'I love you,' he whispered, and a ghost of a smile appeared on her lips, and she opened her eyes to reply, before her heart stop beating and she stopped breathing for the last time, still looking up at him, her Victor._

When Noe's body was in the patch reserved for her, Haymitch finally accepted now was the time to say goodbye. Before they began shovelling the dirt on the bodies, burying them underground forever, Haymitch stepped forward and whilst the cemetery had been quiet before, now it was as silent as the grave. He kept walking until he reached the podium, and he put on a strong and calm demeanour before beginning.

'Thank you all for coming,' was all he could say, and he cleared his throat before just managing to stutter out, 'It means a lot that you all care.' He couldn't do any better than that. Instead of continuing, Haymitch, as a young sixteen year old boy, tortured by the world, raised his left hand to his lips, pressed his middle three fingers to them and then raised them out into the crowd. And row by row, every person in the five hundred strong crowd did the same, saying their last respects to his mother, his brother, and Noe.

And Haymitch Abernathy shed a single tear, because that's the most he ever could.


	8. Eight

_I wanted to say thanks to HungerGamesLuver13 and imstillarockstar53 for reviewing all of these chapters without fail. You guys are the only reason I'm continuing this story hope you enjoy _

Whiskey tastes like regret, at first. Scotch tastes like hate. Brandy tastes like the guilt that never really goes away. He hears people screaming in the night, and he leaps up to help them, only to realize they are nothing but voices in his head. He then identifies them as the last terrified shrieks of his loved ones, and tumbles back into bed and blocks out the sound by covering his ears with his pillow. Even when he goes to bed with his veins surging with alcohol, the guilt he feels fails to evade him. He wishes, more than anything, that they would leave him alone. But time wishing is time wasted - he knows they never will.

The first few days after the funeral were the worst. He was relocated to the house next to Bay, seeing as his old one lay in nothing but charred ruins, and still billows smoke to this day. He had nothing left after the fire apart from the memories of how things used to be. People kept coming to his house to offer him their sympathies, but all were shocked when he kicked them out of his house in a fit of rage. After a few misguided attempts at visits, the only person who bothered to do so was Ripper - to supply Haymitch with his weekly order of booze.

He never remained sober enough to speak to anyone. When the first bottle was finished, he just moved onto the second. When the second was devoured, the third bottle would come into play until his hands were so shaky that they would be unable to hold any more, at which point he would fall asleep, and snore loudly so that he could block out the agonized screaming. In a way, it worked; he was always too inebriated to even be able to think about his mother, his brother or even Noe. The murders of the four Careers never hurt him.

Several weeks before the Annual Victor's Tour, Bay passed away after a long battle with his cancer. Haymitch had to be told seven times before it really sank in. He didn't attend the funeral alongside the camera crews of the Capitol - the death of a Mentor was always interesting - because he didn't really fancy every resident of Panem seeing him like this. Not yet anyway. It took too long for him to realize that next year, he would be the only Mentor.

He felt a hint of remorse for it afterwards, but Haymitch used the tragedy that had been Bay's death to refuse to go on the Victory Tour. He told Mara that he was too distraught to even consider going without him, and although he knew she knew he was lying, she let it go and so Haymitch gave the Capitol yet another reason to despise him. Yes, they had had their revenge, and it had been a good one, but they were never really done. They were going to torture him until the day he died or the day they fell, and let's face it, the latter was never going to happen.

Panem was in uproar after Haymitch's refusal to go on the tour. But the Capitol citizens were thick enough to believe that one: the death of his family and Noe had been an accident (how were fire-bombs classed as an accident?), and two: he was still in mourning and could not bear to be away from them. The letters posted through the gap in his front door reached such a huge size, almost high enough to reach to his waist, all from angry Hunger Games fans, that he burned them all on the fire, having great satisfaction in watching the words burn. All that fancy paper - sorry District Five.

When the 51st Hunger Games rolled around, Haymitch had not a clue what to do, at just seventeen. Bay was gone, he himself was too drunk most of the time, and Mara was...well, Mara was useless as ever. The two tributes, Taranee and King or Prince or something like that, didn't last long. King/Prince died at the Cornucopia, and Taranee was murdered by a Career that she stupidly teamed up with on the first day. Of course, their families were after his blood, but after careful persuasion from Mayor Donner, they accepted he was "mentally deranged" and let him be. After their murders, the screaming increased. His sleep - the only time he was vulnerable to attack from his guilt.

When he turned eighteen, he began to drink even more, his body being able to cope with more alcohol. It cost him a hell of a lot of money, and eventually his soul, but he didn't care one bit. He would sit in front of the fire in an armchair in the evenings and chuckle merrily, thinking what can they do to me now? Time lost all relevance, and he had no clue what the day was, what the time was, he just existed. His house began to fill with dust and cobwebs, and in the darkest, soberest pits of his mind, he promised to clean it, but he didn't.

Like it was just a day later, the next Hunger Games rolled around. These two were better than last year's tributes, trying to convince him to help them, but they were so pathetic and silly that he couldn't be bothered. The Capitol sent him a warning with strict instructions on how to act as a Mentor, or severe punishments would be utilized. He sent them a letter back, simply saying "Bring it on." They left him alone. The girl, Isabella died at the Cornucopia, and the boy, Drew, made it to the final ten but was murdered by a savage beast of a boy from District Three. He drowned himself in whiskey as two more voices joined his pack of shrieking angels.

People began to get fed up with him. Even people like Ripper began to tire of the nineteen year olds attitude, and only came to him because he paid her an awful lot of money and was a valued customer. The Capitol began to stop bothering him, but whilst he believed they had forgotten him, they had done anything but. Later that year, and it wasn't clear why, two of the mines were fire-bombed, killing a hundred men, leaving families to starve. He smiled, how deviously conspicuous of them; of course, only he would know the significance behind that - another hundred. Would the list never end?

The 53rd Hunger Games were an absolute catastrophe. Haymitch ended up passing out at the Reaping, at the opening ceremony, at the interviews and even when the two tributes, Leigh and Felix, went into the arena. Everyone in District Twelve started to loathe and hate him. When he visited his mother, brother and Noe's graves, he heard people talk about him as he walked back to his house - mothers hurrying their children away as if he were some sort of grim reaper. In a way he was; how many had died because of him? More than one hundred, obviously.

He vaguely remembered someone asking him how he lived with himself, how he coped with the deaths of his family initially, but then how he let that interfere with the lives of six young children. He only answered with, 'Because everyone is different, there is no real answer of how to deal with loss. It stays with you forever. The same way guilt does.'

He didn't live, he simply existed. No one expected anything from him; no one really wanted anything from him. Second turned into minutes into hours into days into weeks into months into years, ever since they murdered his family he was a goner. He was a damaged person, and that made him dangerous, because whilst he didn't want to, everyone, himself included, knew he could survive.

The only time in four years that he was sober was on his twentieth birthday, a few weeks before the 54th Annual Hunger Games. Someone awoke him, so early at the crack of dawn, that he didn't have time to even take a swig from the whiskey next to his bed. It turned out to be Maysilee's sister, he doesn't remember her name, and she took him to Maysilee's burial place. He tried to reason that he had a headache, and it was his birthday, but she sat him down without a word and left. It was strange. But Haymitch sat down in front of the headstone and stared at the words.

_'Maysilee Donner_

_District Twelve tribute for the 50th Annual Hunger Games_

_Rest in peace.'_

He hated them. The Capitol didn't even have the decency to let her family choose the words to go on her gravestone because he was pretty sure they wouldn't have said something as cold as that. It almost made him change his ways, because with his help, people could survive this sort of treatment. But it was an almost, a broken wish. He went back to his drinking, and the next time he saw Maysilee's sister, she shook her head in disappointment and disappeared into the crowd.

The day before the next Hunger Games, Mara came a-calling, giving him the annual lecture on how he needed to try and help his tributes. He all but ignored her. It may seem rude, but he didn't need her. He didn't need anyone. He would remain in this drunken stupor for the rest of his life, and yeah, it would be a waste, but he didn't have a problem with that; because those Games change you. If you come out dead, then you're dead and that's different to how you went in, but if you come out alive, all you can ever see is the people you killed. The people you loved who were killed, your allies, your friends. Nightmares rule the worlds of Victors.

Unless you find someone to rid you of the visions.


	9. Her Games: Nine

Reaping day comes this year as it has done every other for the past fifty four, although it seems only yesterday that Haymitch himself was being chosen to participate. He hated this day, the day on which their nation rejoiced in the fact that twenty three defenceless children were going to be slaughtered out of vengeance, just to show that the Capitol was almighty and powerful, that they could do anything they liked and none of the Districts put together could defeat them.

Haymitch awoke early, having been stirred by too many a nightmare to go back to sleep, and he took a swig from the bottle of brandy next to his bed, before lumbering out of his bed in his lovely Victor's house and tumbling down the stairs in a disorderly fashion, his brain already addled by alcohol. But today, at least, he was allowed it. It _was_ the day when two people it was his duty to look after had their death sentences cast.

He slumped down at his table, and thought of no one but Noe. This time four years ago, she was just fifteen; her curly blonde hair wrapped up in a pretty pink bow and wearing a too small cotton dress that barely covered her knees. And then he saw her, covered in black ash and coal dust, specks of her own and his mother and brother's blood across her face. Her blonde hair scorched and turning to dust in his fingers as he brought her head up, trying desperately to revive her.

Trying to wash away these images, Haymitch took another large gulp of whatever bottle was closest to him and saw the time to be half past one. He better get a move on and get down to the square, where he was reserved a prime seat in seeing two families getting their hearts ripped out. He remembered how his mother and brother had reacted – screaming and yelling, trying to reach him before he stood up on the platform and took his place. Of course, there was nothing they could've done. His brother had been too young to volunteer, and even if he had been old enough, Haymitch wouldn't have let him.

He took the solemn, solitary walk to the town square, right in front of the Justice Building and caught side of a comfortable velvet chair which had his name reserved on it and sat down, stroking his chin and pondering on whether he should bother this year. He decided on no. Not helping was a small act of defiance against the Capitol, being irresponsible in his duties and not paying attention to any of his contestants – it made it less fun when tributes weren't trained. It was a small rebellion, one he did not particularly take pleasure in, but it upstaged the pompous fools a little so he was satisfied.

Mara, the tall, skinny woman who had acted as escort for the past ten years, showed up just as the square began to flood with nervous families and boys and girls, and soon enough Mayor Undersee made an appearance. He nodded his head in recognition at Haymitch, for his daughter, Maysilee, had been reaped just four years ago, and she and Haymitch had been allies inside the arena. When the whole place was swarmed full of residents of District Twelve, the Mayor began his yearly routine of explaining why the Hunger Games had to happen, to which Haymitch loudly yawned and refrained from listening until the reaping actually began.

Mara walked to the front of the crowd, and she wobbled in her green heels. Her sickly white skin was stretched thinly across her bones, and she looked too skinny to possibly exist, but her hair was bright white and falling down her back until it reached her waist. Haymitch couldn't decide if she was twenty five or fifty.

'Ladies first!' The sentence has always been the same, for as long as he can remember. Before Mara, the escort was a broad and muscular man, with skin browned from the sun, and although his name has escaped Haymitch's memory, he knows he used to say it as well. The thought of it always sent shivers down his spine; he doesn't see women as weak, but he thinks that females would probably prefer to be chosen second of all. Ladies first has never really been a rule that anyone in District Twelve has abided by – so why, just because of the Capitol, should they do it for the selection of tributes for the Hunger Games?

He's giving it too much thought, he knows so, but it's strange how his mind refuses to sort out the simplest problems, but spends ages nit-picking at theories for completely ridiculous little things that no one else bothers noticing. It's the alcohol; he knows he shouldn't drink but he wants to and so he does.

Diverting his attention back towards Mara, Haymitch watches the fear on every single female child's faces as the spindly woman dips her sharp nails into the fishbowl full of hundreds of names, and pulls out the first slip of paper she grasps hold of. Mara has never been a particularly confident escort, and he never held her in particularly high regard. When she had supposedly "helped" him four years ago, she worried and fussed and cried like a child, and was particularly useless at being organized. The woman had no strength to watch the tributes she kept under her wing, like a mother-hen, get slaughtered inside the arena. And yet, she still lived and obeyed by the Capitol. She was a fool.

The whole crowd fell utterly silent, silent enough that if a single person exhaled loudly, everyone would turn and shush them, their finger on their lips. Mara trembled as she released the small piece of black tape holding the paper bound shut, and Haymitch swore that nearly the whole square leaned forwards, straining their ears.

'Albany Vogel!' Mara called out, her voice wobbling with the knowing that she, in about three weeks' time, would probably be watching this girl die on the screen right in front of her. Competitors from District Twelve had no hope, especially since Bay died and Haymitch became the only mentor, who had the negative reputation of being a drunk and a depressive. He couldn't be blamed entirely for that though – the Capitol had killed everyone he loved.

There was a hushed quiet in the moment Mara stopped talking, and then whole crowd took a step back in one direction, revealing an eighteen year old girl, stood by herself in a small circle, who suddenly collapsed to her knees in shock and started sobbing loudly. Haymitch had never seen something so pitiful, but he was honestly sick to death of watching children having to participate in this sort of event. It was horrific and hateful and vengeful, just murder for enjoyment; watching your own children die because the Capitol thought it was fun.

Two Peacekeepers, looking unforgiving in their sturdy white uniforms, each grabbed one of her upper arms and wrenched her to her feet, where she seemed almost glued to the floor, and had to be carried through the crowd to the stage. The moment the two men let go of her, she tried desperately to push past and escape, but they almost hurled her onto the stage where she landed in a heap at Haymitch's feet and started pounding her fists on the floor, sodden and helpless tears cascading down her ashen cheeks, her eyes still wide in shock but the light brown of her irises softened and merging with the blacks of her pupils and the whites of her eyes.

The entire audience, eight thousand citizens standing watching her, remained steadfast and quiet, allowing the girl to carry on humiliating herself, but all with heavy hearts, and all were wondering what they could do to help her. Mara seemed genuinely moved by the girl's reaction and with almost pleading in her voice she asked the other one thousand girl tributes the question that was always asked, and was always ignored: 'Are there any volunteers willing to step forward and take Miss Vogel's place?'

The answer was brief and simple – no one wanted to do it. Haymitch could see that every girl in the crowd was close to fainting from relief, and although they were required to stay in formation until the boy's name had been picked out as well, many of the younger ones had run to their mothers, hugging and kissing and embracing them, glad to know that they would be safe for indeed another year. But no one wept for the eighteen year old, still lying, now unmoving, on the tribute stadium floor. Haymitch could see no one in the crowd who looked distinctly worried about the girl, although many looked upset or distressed.

It was the lack of care that his own District showed, the District known for their friendliness and family-like community, that caused Haymitch to suddenly rise from his chair before Mara could draw the boy's name from the fishbowl, and pull the girl into a sudden hug. He felt the right shoulder of his jumper become more and more soggy and wet as the girl wept viciously into his embrace. He looked at the cameras, suddenly all upon him, the whole crowd staring in amazement, and he mouthed at the hundreds of lenses the words _You can't hurt us forever_.

It was not simply the fact that he had helped this obviously so weak tribute to her feet, and shown a good deal of compassion that startled every citizen of Panem. It was that this was Haymitch Abernathy, the most sarcastic, volatile and impatient Victor in all of the Hunger Games history that had done the deed. Everyone had merely expected him to ignore the girl at his feet and remain in his trance-like and drunken state until he was forced to sober up and be some sort of help in the Games, not that he would actually _help_ the poor soul.

But Mara stopped and stared, and the rest of Panem did the same for the next several minutes, and Haymitch gave small comfort to the girl, wrapping his strong arms around her and holding her tightly, although up till now he had no clue such a person existed in District Twelve. He rubbed his hands soothingly on her upper back, his fingers trailing across the silk of her dress, a material so fine he worried that she would be an easy target and he could see she was definitely not a citizen of the Seam. However, it would be obvious that she would be seen as an easy target – the whole city had seen her as being ridiculously over-emotional. He understood though. Some tributes could hold their anguish in, like he had done, making sure none of his competitors knew how unprepared he was, but then there were the few tributes like Albany Vogel, who could not help but break down.

She choked out a few remaining sobs onto his shoulder, her hands grasping the material on the back of his sweater. 'I promise I will help you as much as I can,' Haymitch whispered in her ear, too discreetly for the cameras to detect or for the citizens of District Twelve to hear. But she heard it and she looked at him, her eyes red rimmed and inflated, and nodded in thanks, sinking into the chair beside him. He was worried about this one – she probably wouldn't last past the Cornucopia at this rate.

Mara sniffed too, showing that her resolve for the audience of Panem was cracking, and she forced a smile onto her bright yellow lips and spoke loudly into the microphone, 'And now to the males.' The hush descended once again, broken this time by the girl's small intakes of breath as she steadied herself for who her competitor would be. Haymitch prayed to God, or even to the evil Gamemakers in the Capitol, that it would not be someone that she knew. Because he knew, and it was obvious, that she would have an even bigger meltdown than before.

The inhabitants of the square seemed to realize this as well, and were all holding their own and, if necessary, each other's breaths as Mara's hand went plummeting into the glass bowl and she wrenched a name out, quickly unfolded it and cried out, 'Trey Brunwin!'

There was sudden mutterings that emerged all over the square. Nearly every mother, every father, every relative was talking in whispers, like huge bundles of gossip were being passed around to every soul, and Haymitch caught snatches of conversation where this Trey boy was being made up to be some sort of superhero in both strength and power. Haymitch caught sight of this boy as he walked up to the platform, and although he was only sixteen, the kid looked like he had been body building for half his life already.

The way the boy walked up the steps, swagger in his footwork, a smug grin wrapping itself around his lips, and the way his eyes darted maliciously all across the crowd, he seemed like he was going to be a huge piece of work. Haymitch instantly decided that he was a jerk and was not worth wasting his time with – he wasn't going to give him a chance because he simply didn't want to. He was an excellent judge of character and he did not take fools gladly; something his six previous tributes had overlooked and learned the hard way. Great, Haymitch thought glumly, he had two utterly useless children again this year; more bloodshed, more death and more hatred in his direction. Ripper better get ready for some serious service.

Albany looked at the Trey boy and then nervously looked at Haymitch, and he was relieved to see that she bore no recognition of him whatsoever. He almost got up and praised God loudly, although that would be heresy against the government of the Capitol. This meant it would be so much easier for one to kill the other without getting all touchy-feely and upset about it. Although this girl looked like if she even gave someone a _paper cut_ she would probably bend over double and apologize until she ran out of breath.

Mara looked anxiously at the crowd gathered in the square and then proceeded to let Mayor Undersee take over and announce the rules and wishes of the Hunger Games, the next steps for the tributes, and then it was time for Albany and Trey to shake hands with one another, showing some sort of unity to the rest of Panem, and then leave for the Justice Building and then the Capitol.

Haymitch assisted the girl to her feet from her seat, and she shook, still in shock, and he half carried her towards Trey, but she managed to extend her arm and keep it steady for a brief handshake before she let go and her bottom lip started trembling and she looked ready to burst into tears again. 'Keep it together. Cry later,' Haymitch muttered into her ear, and her skin looked almost transparent, but she indeed kept it together.

The crowd cheered as the two tributes and Haymitch left the square, who was currently feeling awful for having the thought that this year's Hunger Games was going to be even more entertaining with these two as the tributes.


	10. Ten

Every tribute was allowed an hour to say goodbye to their loved ones before jetting off on the sleek Capitol train so they could train in preparation for the Games. Although this was supposed to be the best part, where they got to see their family and friends and admirers before they left, it was always the most heart-wrenching, because what exactly do you say to someone you love who is about to be slaughtered by your government? You just don't mention it; you cry, you hug, you kiss your lovers, and then you just leave, and see them next on television, made up so they don't even look like them anymore.

Trey Brunwin was a familiar face in the Seam, having been the only boy under the age of eighteen to enter the coal mines after accessing special permission from the Peacekeepers. He looked like the sort of kid you would expect to volunteer from District One, Two or Four – the Capitol's posse. As soon as he sat down in his chair in the Justice Building, around twenty people came bursting through the doors and ran towards him, all sobbing into handkerchiefs, bringing him food and accessories and things that they begged him to wear as his token from his District. About five of these people were all girls, who all seemed to be utterly in love with him and kept kissing his face and his hands like he was some sort of Messiah. Trey caught Haymitch's eye, and then looked over at Albany, and smirked in his direction.

Nobody in the Square had cried out when Albany had been chosen as tribute, but he had expected at least one person to come and say goodbye to her. Come off it; she couldn't have absolutely no one, could she? Her eyes were bright red, contrasting against the paleness of her skin, and her bottom lip was still trembling. Her hands were fidgeting in her lap and she looked nervously at the door where the people usually came through, and then down at her lap again. She caught Haymitch's eye as well, for only the briefest of seconds, and she then wiped away a tear with her palm and sniffed loudly.

Haymitch was leaned coolly against the wall of the Justice Building, still trying to make up his mind about these two tributes. Sure, the boy was more cocky, but stronger than the usual skinny as a twig model he was given, but that girl; she was just a complete mess. He didn't know what he was going to do with her. She looked like the sort of person who honestly wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone another human being. But on closer analysis, he saw scars on her forearms and a small one just below her chin - another imperfection alongside her obvious fear. He wondered where she had gotten the scars from.

Deciding to go and speak to her, Haymitch rolled onto the front of his feet and then carefully walked over to her, trying not to seem sarcastic and vicious as he usually did with most of his tributes when they were in the Capitol. As useless as he was with crying girls, he had some experience with Noe, and he didn't like to see anyone in pain; especially when they were going to get even worse and probably unhinge even more.

'So where is everyone who knows Albany Vogel?' he asked, sitting down on the chair next to her and leaning back, putting one leg over the other and crossing his arms, raising his eyebrows at her. She almost glared at him, but it was so pathetic that he let a small smile cross his lips which she generally reciprocated. She took another look at the door, decorated with gold stitching and fabric padding. This one room was probably worth more than every house in the Seam put together, alongside possessions.

'They said they would bring Annie,' she sniffed, before bursting into tears, prompting the five girls next door to point and giggle at her. Haymitch pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to her, and gave her time to finish, before she brought her head back up, her ferociously red hair hanging messily in her eyes. He resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ears. 'She's being moved to a hospital in District Four tomorrow. She's not very well – something's wrong with her head, but she's the only person I care about, and they promised,' she wailed loudly.

Haymitch's face contorted into one of pity, and gently took her small hand inside his own and asked, 'Who's "they" Albany?' The sound of him using her name seemed to weirdly calm her down and she did not resist his hand-holding which was beginning to stop her trembling. 'The Community Centre. Annie, she's only six and I've looked after her ever since she was a baby. She's like a sister to me.'

He immediately understood the scars. Those people who ran the Community Centre, they called themselves caring and a big happy family, but the way they treated those children was an absolute nightmare. No wonder the poor girl reacted like this, all through her life there had been nothing but pain. 'How did you end up in the Centre?' Haymitch asked quietly, trying to subliminally alert Albany that they were having this conversation a little too loudly in the presence of everyone else here.

She looked ready to cry, but, remembering his advice, she restrained the tears from cascading down her and cheeks and steadily breathed in and out before saying, 'My mum died when I was five, and my dad was never around.' The latter was more shocking than the first. District Twelve was very family orientated, and it was something of a rarity to find a single parent, because everyone was bonded so tightly together. The only reason that families would normally have only one parent was in the case of the other one dying.

'I'm sorry,' he said courteously, and to his surprise, she showed a glimmer of a smile and then turned to him and said, 'I'm sorry too for what happened to you.' Of course, it was common knowledge that he had lost those people all those years ago. Was it really only four years ago that his mother, his brother and Noe died? Hang on, when did they "die"? They had been murdered. The one thing he hated about the relationship with his tributes was that, apart from the fact there normally wasn't one, they seemed to know everything about him before he even introduced himself. He hated gossip and journalists and reports telling Panem about him.

'Well, it happens. You've just got to deal with it,' he said, a little harsher and more coldly than was probably necessary. She grimaced.

Trey's admirers were ushered out when the time was almost over, with only around one minute remaining. He smirked at Haymitch and Albany, almost grieving together and began swaggering off to the train station by himself where he was greeted by many reporters who were bound to love his confidence and arrogance. Albany soon stood up, and breathed out heavily, taking one glance towards the door when someone suddenly came bursting through the door and leapt into her arms. Another person, around the age of forty, entered as well, with steel-grey iron hair that fell to her shoulders. She had a look of disapproval on her face, and Haymitch soon put the pieces together.

There was the little girl, Annie, in Albany's arms, who was squealing as Albany hugged her tightly and spun around in circles, patting the little girl's blonde curls and whispering songs in her ears. The woman was obviously the matron of the Community Centre, and Haymitch had half a mind to go and talk to her about how she ran her establishment, but decided against it. It was none of his business really. Instead he watched as Albany hugged the little girl, Annie, who had a slightly dreamy and blank look on her face, and shed tears as the Peacekeepers appeared in the doorway, hesitating, to remove the visitors.

'So, why is the little girl being moved to District Four?' Haymitch asked the woman, who had a name tag on saying Matron Lucinda. She did not change her expression, but the harsh lines around her eyes and lips softened a little and she whispered, 'Annie Cresta's always been ill inside her head. It's not safe for her here, and there's a good hospital in District Four where they can help her. Albany was devastated when she found out. We tried to tell Annie about the reaping, but she didn't understand.'

They both turned their gaze to the two children, the little girl crying just because the older one was. Albany choked and sniffed loudly when the two Peacekeepers insisted that Annie and Lucinda left the Justice Building. 'Just remember Annie, be good for the people in the District Four. They'll look after you,' she whispered in her ear, and the little girl's hands clenched around the material of her dress.

'Ally, where you going?' she asked, her voice slightly high-pitched and very soft, but when Albany tried to answer, her head tilted to the side and Annie Cresta stared at the ceiling, like she had drifted off into her own special world. After a few careful words from Albany, Annie finally drifted back into the normal world. Matron Lucinda said goodbye, and offered nothing but a small handshake, but the little girl refused to let go of Albany's dress. In the end, one of the emotionless Peacekeepers had to pull Annie off and drag her away, whilst she screamed and Albany cried.

'Come on Vogel. Clean yourself up and let's go,' Haymitch called, noticing that the train was beginning to steam, and someone was pulling the horn, alerting the two that they needed to hurry up. Mara didn't hate anything apart from someone being late. She immediately understood "clean yourself up" to mean "dry your eyes" and pull herself together for the cameras. They had already seen her cry; she didn't want the satisfaction of letting them see how weak she was feeling again.

Haymitch groaned as the little girl was taken from the room, knowing it was going to dent what little confidence Albany had built up from their conversation. He gently pulled her to her feet, and together, they slowly made their way to the train, Haymitch taking the time to brush away the news reporters, shoving their cameras in the two faces, and they stepped onto the train, shutting out the rest of the world.

**-HungerGames-**

Because of the fact they were so late onto the train, the moment the door was shut behind Haymitch and Albany, they were both thrown onto the floor with the speed that it shot down the tracks with. Mara, who had removed her long white wig to reveal a small amount of brown curls, which gave her a much more human look, walked back into the main room on the carriage, bringing Trey alongside her. Haymitch pulled himself off the floor, not bothering to help Albany up, who crawled to her feet, looking a bit offended, and her eyes still blood red.

'Your room is down there,' Mara said curtly, dismissing Albany down to her room with nothing but a little smile, the woman having evidently forgotten her sympathy for the girl who had been reaped. Albany gave a small shrug of the shoulders and disappeared down the corridor, and Haymitch turned to Trey and said, 'Go to your room. Dinner's at eight.' Trey smirked and then sauntered down the corridor on the opposite side of the carriage, his expression still one of supreme confidence and removed his overbearing presence from the room.

Haymitch turned to Mara and rolled his eyes. 'What a nightmare. These two are even worse than last year and you know how awful they were. One's in the private training sessions – give me strength,' he gushed, staring in disdain after the two who had previously disappeared into their rooms. He began walking off to find his chambers, which was always the same every year, but Mara pulled him back by the sleeve and frowned down at him, and, for the first time, Haymitch had respect for the fact that she was older than him, and he was only twenty years old.

'You have to try this year Haymitch. You can't let them die anymore just because the Capitol hurt you. You're not making a difference; you're just making people hate you. Stop drinking, and do your job,' Mara hissed, and this should've affected him, had she not made the same speech for the past two years. He shrugged his shoulders complacently and continued to his room, making a mental note to avoid Mara tomorrow morning when he was sure to be absolutely out of it. He didn't care anymore. No one could make him either.

The moment Haymitch entered his room, where the place already smelt of alcohol, he walked straight over to the metal hatch and ordered a bottle of whiskey. Whiskey had always been his distinct favourite seeing as it had been his first taste of being drunk, right after the three funerals of his mother, brother and girlfriend. The first bottle, the scotch, had been left with a dying Bay, the bottle of brandy had shattered by the fence, but the whiskey had remained hidden in the mud, and right after saying goodbye, he went and found it, and at sixteen, he drank himself to sleep that night, preferring the wooziness and dizziness and distraction it preferred, rather than the pain that everyone he loved had died because of him.

The whiskey arrived in less than twenty seconds, the dispenser having been improved for him – the Gamemakers knew how angry he got when he wasn't allowed his alcohol. Haymitch quickly unstopped the bottle, not bothering to take the glass it came alongside, and he downed half the bottle in one go, letting out a satisfied sigh. He sat down on his bed, allowing the horrors that had fallen upon him, Albany, Trey, Mara and District Twelve to disappear from his mind and the liquor to just pour down his throat.

A few minutes later, or was it hours, someone was banging on the door of his room, but he drunkenly called out for them to go away, and then pressed his face into the pillow, moaning obscenities of being disturbed. After falling asleep for about half an hour, Haymitch was awoken when he fell off his bed and smacked his head on the corner of his bedside cabinet. He groaned loudly, and quickly looked up on his wall to see the time. But his vision was so blurred from the whole seven hundred and fifty millilitres of brandy he had consumed that he couldn't even see the difference from the hands and the background of the clock.

Slowly gathering himself onto his knees, Haymitch collapsed his body onto the bed and just laid there, his whole head spinning wildly like he had been on a merry-go-round for a solid six hours. He was lucky; he had a very high alcohol tolerance and so whilst he was completely hammered, he still had the faintest bit of common sense.

Better fix that.

When the chimes of the small clock began going off, telling him through his ringing ears that it was ten o'clock, Haymitch stumbled across the room, and started yelling his order at the metal hatch before realizing that he had to press the order in through the computer. It took him five attempts, ending up with a chicken korma, a tub of ice cream, a slab of cheese, a bottle of fresh water and roasted mockingjay before he finally managed to get another bottle of lovely whiskey. He made delighted noises in the back of his throat as he tossed the liquid down his oesophagus and the delicious taste lingered in his mouth. But his thirst was still not quenched.

In thirty minutes, the third bottle of whiskey was almost finished. He fell backwards onto his bed, the bottle spilling its insides over the white sheets, and he immediately ran to the bathroom, smacking into the loo doorframe in the process, and threw up all over the floor before he could reach the toilet. He retched and retched until there was nothing left in his stomach, and all reason had left him completely.

In that moment, Haymitch realized that he should probably go and apologize to Mara for not turning up at dinner (although it was hardly surprising seeing as he hadn't ever done so on the first night – always choosing to drink instead). In his opinion, alcohol was better than any food he could possibly imagine. Haymitch staggered to the door of his room, and wrenched it open before banging into the door opposite, accidentally awakening Trey who took one look outside his room, saw his mentor in the state he was, and slammed the door shut again. Haymitch blew a raspberry at him and continued down the corridor.

It was then that he realized that he had not one clue where any of his associates actually were. Trey was obviously opposite him, but he had no idea where either Mara or Albany was. He tried to guess, but the movement of the train was rocking his stomach side to side, and tangling his weary sinuses before he vomited again, getting the wretched stuff all over the nice carpet of the train that Mara was sure to yell at him for tomorrow morning. Too tired to continue, Haymitch just collapsed on the floor next to his vomit and snored loudly the whole night through.


	11. Eleven

_Thank you so much to everyone who is reviewing! It means so much to me that there are a few people who are enjoying the story. I know Haymitch in this story seems very similar to how he was in the actual Hunger Games (the way he acts with Trey here), but I think Haymitch's reaction would be pretty similar even back then. The next chapter should be up before the end of the week, but I'm not feeling very well so it might be pushing it a bit :') Hope you all enjoy this chapter! x_

The next thing Haymitch was aware of was being sat down in a very comfortable, most likely velvet, chair in the dining room in the morning, Mara glaring at him across the table. His head was twirling like a spinning top, and his vision was so horrendously blurred that he couldn't see if what was in front of his was bread or cereal. He didn't care – he was thirsty. Before Mara could call for an Avox to remove the bottle, Haymitch grabbed hold of what was most probably wine, and poured himself a generous helping and downed it in one go.

Albany and Trey watched him, both their expressions showing something completely different. Trey seemed to like Haymitch like this, it made him the sensible alpha male that people were going to trust, and it made him seem so much more impressive in comparison to their dog-rough, drunken mentor. However Albany just looked disappointed. She had heard so many rumours and stories about his drinking because of his past, but she had really thought that he might try and help her. He did promise after all. When he caught her gaze, he swore she gave him a tiny shake of the head.

The room was of an average size, not unlike the bottom floor of Haymitch's house back in Victor's Village. It was painted exquisitely though, unlike Haymitch had bothered to do, and was kept very tidily at all times. The ceiling was coated in plaster statues of Victor's gone by, and all the people in the history of the Hunger Games. Haymitch wasn't on it. To be far he hadn't expected to be. The walls were covered in gold trimmings, and the whole place just exuded wealth and the Capitol's superiority over their poverty.

'So today, we're going to arrive at the Capitol at approximately seven in the evening. So, if you need any help with anything or you've got any questions just come to me or to Hay…Just come and see me,' Mara said amiably, trying to reassure the tributes although she wasn't doing the greatest job of reassuring herself. Everyone began to eat, save for Haymitch, who just kept downing the alcohol, glass by glass, and Albany, who seemed absolutely overcome by the food on the table.

She stared at it as if it were some foreign gold that was absolutely priceless, like she couldn't believe this sort of thing existed. It was a fair reaction – in District Twelve, food as good as this wasn't ever an option. In fact, many of the residents had never seen hot chocolate or ice cream before. When he was half-sober, this was the only part of the trip that Haymitch enjoyed. He didn't know if it was nice on the Victory Tour, seeing as for his own he had refused to go and after that, no one from Twelve had had a hope of winning.

'Oi Vogel, don't just sit there, eat something,' he grumbled in between sips, and she glared at him, narrowing her eyebrows slightly. He could tell she was annoyed with him, but maybe he could provoke something out of her that would convince him she had some passion somewhere and didn't just break down and cry at everything that happened. Because those sorts of reactions would not help her in the arena and she needed to get rid of them as soon as possible.

She restrained from obeying for as long as possible, but in the end resisted and leaned forward and grabbed a roll, and smeared it with butter. He sighed. She refrained from eating it though, looking towards him for direction as to what to do next. It was almost patronizing. Almost. 'Look sweetheart, you're going to need to stock up before the Games so just eat will you?' he slurred impatiently, almost pounding his fist against the table.

'There's just so much,' she replied, looking across the table disgustedly at Trey, who was currently shovelling food into mouth at a hundred miles a second. 'In the Community Centre, this could feed us for almost a month,' Albany continued disdainfully, and she looked to the right, the same way Annie Cresta had, and Haymitch could tell she was thinking about the little girl, wondering if she was alright.

'Well if you win then maybe you can take it all back for them,' Haymitch said thoughtlessly, and the reaction he had hoped for emerged. Albany's fists clutched the cloth on the breakfast table and she tried to stop herself from yelling as she had with eating, but ended up hissing something along the lines of, 'Well I'm not going to win with a mentor like you!'

He raised his eyebrows, and managed to wipe the edge of his mouth politely with a napkin, and whilst Mara tried to cut in through the conversation, he held up a finger to silence her and leant forwards towards Albany, trying to clumsily take her hand like he had done yesterday. To his slight embarrassment, she pulled her hand away from him this time. That almost hurt. 'Look here sweetheart; it's not my fault if you get killed. If you don't toughen up soon you're not going to last two minutes. At the moment, you've got the same chances of winning as Annie Cresta.'

He could see the anger building up in her face as he exploded with that speech, and he could see her lips forming intangible words that he could tell she was dying to let loose on him. But instead, Albany rose to her feet, kicked her chair backwards, halfway across the room, and stormed back down the corridor of the train to her room where she slammed the door shut, the bang ricocheting back to the dining room. At least she had the sense to walk away instead of arguing. That could be added to her list of pro's which was worryingly short.

Mara just rolled her eyes in frustration at him, finished her coffee and then went to see if she could try and talk to Albany. As useless an escort as she was, Mara knew she had duties when Haymitch was this sodden with drink, and she really did care for the tributes and wanted to make sure they had a good opportunity to win; Albany was right in what she said – these kids had no chance if Haymitch didn't pull his act together soon.

Trey had finished eating by now, and had called an Avox girl to take his plate away. He eyed her up as she served on him, and Haymitch was tempted to hit him whilst the girl hurried away awkwardly. Trey smirked – it seemed almost like his thing, that smirk. It was so damn _irritating_. 'So, are you going to help me win these Games?' Trey asked, and for the first time, Haymitch heard his voice. It was deep and gravelly, and matched his appearance. Trey looked like the sort of kid who would be nicknamed "heartthrob" at school. He probably was, considering the amount of girls who had been at his side in the Justice Building.

Haymitch ignored him, and took another sip of wine. Trey knocked it from his hands onto the carpet in the next few seconds in an attempt to catch his attention, so Haymitch smacked him in the face and poured another glass whilst the same Avox girl cleared up the broken one on the floor. 'Don't touch my drink. You'll be fine. Just stay away from the Careers and train when we get to the Capitol,' Haymitch said monotonously, trying to stray from getting into a conversation, whilst Trey nursed his probably fractured nose.

Trey glared furiously at him, but suddenly calmed and said, 'Well, I've got a better chance than her. I can already fight with swords and knives, and I can hunt.' He said this in the most pompous and impressive manner he could muster but Haymitch really couldn't care less. He nodded, sarcastically interested and carried on drinking, hoping he might pass out in a minute so he wouldn't have to listen to this kid anymore. However, there was something that was bothering Haymitch about the six foot boy in front of him.

'Why are you so happy about being chosen, with so many people to leave behind?' Haymitch asked, starting to feel a little drowsy. He set aside the wine for the moment and ordered a bottle of water which he drank whilst Trey considered his question, and he piled his plate up with the remaining food, attempting to reach an acceptable point of sobriety.

'Because I know I can win. I mean look at me,' Trey said, holding out his arms, and showing off his muscles, 'and then I would be rich, and famous, and I could feed everyone in the District.' Well, he had the right intentions (sort of), but was going about them the complete wrong way. Haymitch took a huge bite out of a slice of toast and then said, 'Well you were very lucky to get picked out then, weren't you?' His manner was a little scathing, and Trey smirked again.

'Well, it would've been weird if I hadn't seeing as my name was in there over three hundred times,' he stated simply, and Haymitch suddenly got a piece of toast stuck in throat and started choking. When he was done, and his eyes were watering, he gasped loudly and turned to Trey and stuttered out, 'Three hundred times? You're only sixteen, how can you have over three hundred entries?' Trey contemplated for a moment before just brushing the question aside as if it were simply a fly perching on his shoulder.

'I have a big family. Plus, I took all the tesserae for my friends as well, seeing as none of them wanted to.' Haymitch's face contorted into an expression of confusion. 'You're not allowed to take tesserae for anyone but family,' Haymitch stated blandly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'I know,' Trey replied, looking out the window behind Haymitch at District Five. The industry of their District was power, and by just glancing outside as the train travelled down the tracks at two hundred and fifty miles per hour, you could see the huge nuclear power stations and reactors, all brewing up electricity and energy. This was the District that his brother always used to talk about, the one he would've most liked to have been a part of. Maybe one day, if the Capitol fell, then all the Districts could unite. His brother would like that.

If he wasn't so dead.

Haymitch continued eating in silence until he felt full enough and strong enough to walk in a straight line. He had sobered up remarkably well in the past twenty minutes, although he still had a busting headache banging at his skull when he walked. He did not say farewell to Trey; he just walked straight past with the intent of going to apologize to Albany. The worst she could do was slamming the door in his face, but she would come round.

Mara was still standing outside the eighteen year olds door, but Haymitch waved her away and she looked terribly disgruntled before accepting this and leaving the vicinity. He knocked loudly on the white paintwork to which there was no response before he yelled, 'Vogel, open up!' This certainly did prompt a response from her. She swung the door open and glared viciously at him before attempting to slam the door, but he had expected this and he jerked his foot in the gap just as she shut the door on it. He didn't let the pain reflect on his face, but he laughed a little, trying to release the agony in some way.

She seemed to recognize what she had done, but she made no move to apologize. He couldn't blame her really, but she allowed the door to relax slightly, and just stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, waiting for him to say something. He stood awkwardly, staring at her, but he was proud to see that she hadn't shed any tears over his insults; not any visible ones anyway.

For the first time since she had been chosen as tribute, Haymitch actually looked at Albany Vogel, not at what she was going to be like as a participant in the Games, but as a person, an individual. She was certainly very beautiful, now that he was seeing her for the first time with normal eyes (seeing as at breakfast, they had still been red rimmed from where she had cried in the night, he guessed). They were light brown, like the colour of tree bark in the summer months when it had been conspicuously lightened by the sun's rays. Her hair reminded him of fire, soft red with subtle hints of orange and minor streaks of blonde that blended into the mixture. It was incredible, and it glistened with every move she made.

She was tall, standing at maybe five foot nine, but she was considerably shorter than Haymitch, and a lot shorter than Trey. She was slim, however a little curvier then the people in the Seam, showing that at the Community Centre they at least had a steady supply of food which was more than the people in the Hob could wish for. Her skin was pale, like a china doll, but sprinkled with freckles which looked more like little bits of cinnamon spread across her face, although the scar beneath her chin was still there, no effort being made to cover it up. He liked that.

'I came to apologize,' he murmured, and he looked nervously at her, waiting for her to go berserk at him, kind of hoping she would because he didn't want to be in any kind of debt with her. But she just glared intently and then said, 'You're only apologizing because you feel bad.' At that point, it occurred to Haymitch that she was eighteen, only two meagre years younger than him, and she was indeed very intelligent when not a complete emotional wreck – which was about seventy percent of the time in his defence.

'Isn't that the reason everyone apologizes?' he asked genuinely, and she smiled faintly, reminding him of the way Noe looked just before she died. Those eyes, glassy and shining, the life drained out of them, a ghost of a grin still etched across her lips. _Where was his brandy?_ 'Look Vogel, we're going to be in the Capitol in a few hours, you want to talk or anything?' he asked gruffly, trying to put her off the idea, but she detected this, and with humour in her voice, she said, 'Let's talk.'

He tried not to groan and she laughed. She had a beautiful laugh.


	12. Twelve

_Not so sure about the ending of this…seems a little rushed to me, but you know, eight days before the Games start so it's going to be a little sudden. Next chapter is better though :-)_

Talking, it seemed, was not the worst option in the world, although a few times he had found himself gagging for some sort of drink. It turns out that however much she had told him yesterday (of which he had vague memories after last night's drinking session) had been absolutely nothing in comparison to the traumas she had been through in her life. It seemed so shocking that the Reaping, all the drama in the Justice Building at then at breakfast had happened in the short space of around twenty four hours. But time flew quickly here; no one had near enough time to prepare for what was to come.

Albany seemed to have calmed down a little about being chosen as tribute, and was engaging in conversation eagerly, but he knew there was still a large part of her wanting to cry out and scream for what was being inflicted on her. But District Twelve residents lived lives of pain, and now hers was bound to end in the same way. He knew she didn't think she had a hope in hell of winning. It saddened him a little to find that he thought the exact same thing.

Haymitch told her all about the Capitol, and the people; warned her about the extreme fashions and how her stylists may well be the craziest people she had ever come across. She had laughed at this, but he was being deadly serious (he still remembered how they had planned him to look before Charlie stepped in). He told her of the spires and the citadels and the grand buildings, and the streets and shops and finery. He told her of the riches the Capitol possessed; the riches that, in their world, were just dreams, always slipping from their hands.

The only redeeming thing about her that he was sure was going to help her, in terms of popularity, and therefore sponsorship, was that she was likeable. Once you got past the layers of crying, desperation and hunger, there was an extremely kind and lovely person, who really seemed to care about any trouble brought to her door. But this could be misconstrued as a weakness to the other tributes, and as much as he didn't want to, Haymitch knew he had to change that aspect about her.

Her room on the train was one step classier than his (for very good reason); the sheets were more expensive, the chest of drawers was finished with a gleaming polish, whereas his was just flaky wood. The serving hatch, on the other hand, was less efficient, but that was because Albany wasn't tossing alcohol down her throat at every available point in time. After lunch was taken in her room, everyone deciding that maybe an altogether lunch wasn't probably the best idea after breakfast, Albany really grilled him about the drinking.

'I just don't see the attraction to it,' she muttered thoughtlessly, staring outside of the window as the delicate orange sunset was beginning to progress into night-time as they reached within five miles of the Capitol. Haymitch stared at her, and she ignored this until she finally glanced back up to listen to his response. 'Look Vogel, when you go through hard times in your life, you need some sort of distraction or relief,' he murmured back, his head pounding where the hangover from the wine at breakfast was kicking in. He never really got hangovers - normally because he drank too much to even begin to be sober. But spending all day with her, he hadn't had the time yet.

'You had looking after Annie to distract you after your mother,' Haymitch said, turning her own story against her to which she dropped her chin sadly, 'I didn't have anyone.' Albany considered for a few moments, and for a second, he thought she had retreated back to her sobbing self from the Reaping, but she returned his argument calmly with, 'But you could've tried, I mean, to get better.'

He stood up from where they had been sat together on the soft woollen carpet, shaking his head and making a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. He travelled to the large window to the north of her room, and stood silently by it, watching as the train entered the tunnel through which they came to the Capitol. He stood, arms crossed against his chest and the remnants of his scar from Gabriella, quiet and weary. 'I can't say you don't know what it's like to lose everyone, because you do,' he said loudly, startling her as she looked up at him.

Haymitch stared at his reflection in the window, but it was vague and translucent - hey, just like his will to live. He watched his mouth form the words that he hadn't been able to say to anyone for the last four years. He didn't know why he trusted her. He didn't want to. It would've been easier to hate her, just like he did Trey. But she had to be so damn understanding, didn't she? 'But you don't know what it's like to lose everyone you love and to know it was your fault.'

That tear which had fallen from his eye at the funeral returned, sliding down his face, caressing his jaw, settling complacently into his stubble and then carefully dropping from his cheek. When another tried to follow, he brushed it away, jerking the liquid from his face, not wanting to appear weak and vulnerable. Because some people, like Albany Vogel, God, it was alright for them to cry in public and make a mess of themselves because people would feel sympathy. But when people like him, the big Victor, Haymitch Abernathy who killed three Careers and defied the Capitol cried, people laughed and taunted and teased. Because you don't know what it's like to lose everyone you love until it actually happens, and you don't know that you lose yourself as well.

'It wasn't your fault,' she said timidly, astounded at how emotional he had become. She stood up, her little blue summer dress she hadn't taken off since yesterday swishing around her knees, and was careful with the way she acted. She kept having to remind herself that this was the man who had let six people just die in the last three years. She hated herself for being so weak in his presence, for looking like such a child. But that's all she was; a child playing in a grown up's world, looking for a place in a world she didn't belong in.

'You should've seen her die, Albany. And then you would understand,' Haymitch breathed out, the heat of his breath condensing against the cool windows, 'I watched Noe, just fifteen years old, die with a piece of glass just...stuck in her throat.' He struggled to get the words out, trying not to choke in the same way she had. 'The Capitol dropped two fire bombs on my house, and I had to watch as my girlfriend choked to death.' He turned around to face her, anger all over his features.

'Do you know what her last words were?' he roared, and Albany took a tentative step back towards the door, fumbling for the handle in case she needed to make a quick escape. 'She told me she loved me, and she told me not to forget her! And you know what I've spent the last four years trying to do?' he spat, his voice rising to a volume louder than the engines of the train as they began to screech to a halt. Albany heard Mara outside, banging on the door, having heard the shouting and guessing that Haymitch was in a foul mood. Albany shook her head, too afraid to say a word.

'I've spent my time doing all I could to get her out of my head - to erase her existence from my head forever! And it never works! No amount of alcohol or distractions works, every living second I see her dying because of me! Because of ME!' Haymitch bellowed, and before Albany could say anything in her defence, he pushed her aside, flew out of the door, barged past Mara, and she heard him slam his door and start throwing things off the shelves and chest of drawers in his room, just as they pulled into the station.

-HungerGames-

The short ride to their accommodation before the Games was sincerely the most awkward thing any of the four had ever experienced. Haymitch was moodily sat in the corner of the motorcar, a bottle of whiskey in his hand that was so tightly clenched around it, everyone was afraid it would shatter. Albany was staring down at her lap, like she had done in the Justice Building, and everyone knew she was upset yet startled by Haymitch's mood. Trey was looking less smug from his encounter with Haymitch this morning, and was, or so Haymitch believed, beginning to realize the situation he had put himself in. Mara was just plain annoyed that Haymitch had, once again, screwed up her plans.

Because they were District Twelve, the button on the elevator was easy enough to remember. Although, the way they were being treated right now, Albany doubted she would ever have opportunity to ride it by herself, let alone forget the number. The panels looked like they were made from crystal, and she loved that when she looked down, she could see everyone beneath her feet. It made Trey look uneasy - maybe he was afraid of heights. Well, that could possibly be useful.

Haymitch could see by the way she looked at her fellow tribute that she was already weighing up the good and bad things about his performance and personality. Good girl, he thought internally, although he was still in a fuming rage about how naive she had been about him. Naïve, just like Noe. He couldn't get away from her. She was still there, in death as she had been in life.

The looks on his tributes' faces when they saw the floor on which they were staying was absolutely priceless. Trey's mouth hanged open to the point where his chin was banging against the floor, and Albany just looked in every direction, sucking in every single detail of the place. Haymitch just blundered out of the elevator and into his room, ordering a bottle of whiskey via the room service and no more was heard of him until he was actually frogmarched from his chambers by an extremely ill-tempered Mara.

She sat him down on the leather sofa, and switched on the television so they could re-watch the Reaping's from all the Districts. Presented by a young Caesar Flickerman, each Reaping lasted about ten minutes from each District, with a commentary alongside. Out of the twenty four tributes, Trey was forgettable in comparison to the broad-shouldered boys from the richer Districts, and Albany was only remembered because of her breakdown. Not exactly the impression he had been aiming for - if he had been aiming for one of course.

During the eighty minute feature, Albany had caught Haymitch's eyes for a second a few times, only to have him glare in her direction and turn back to the screen. Out of all the tributes she saw, the Careers definitely looked the most terrifying. But then there was the girl from Six, the one that really spooked her. A little girl, thirteen years old, but who looked about ten, with blonde hair down to her waist and blue shimmery eyes. She accepted her Reaping though, and Albany was jealous in that capacity.

The two from Ten were very memorable, being the twin offspring of one of the District Ten mentors. That was ruthless and so obviously fixed. But her own Reaping terrified Albany beyond belief, and she realized that, apart from the three people in this room (well, two really), no one else in the whole of Panem cared about her. She watched herself cry and sob, and felt herself tearing up again by the fact that no one in the crowd seemed to care whatsoever. Annie hadn't even been there. She sniffed loudly, making Mara turn to look round at her, and Haymitch chucked her a tissue.

Well, at least he was being...helpful?

After the Reaping, everyone went to bed. Haymitch threw up his insides until around eleven o'clock, before deciding to give it a rest, have a long shower and go to bed and try and sleep for once. It didn't work. Not because he wasn't tired, but because he could hear Albany Vogel, in the room next to him whilst Mara and Trey were on the opposite side of the huge level, sobbing into her pillow. His recollection of shouting at her was a little less vague than he would have hoped for. And now he was filled with an immeasurable amount of guilt because he was pretty sure she was crying over the fact she was going to die. She must know he had made no plan to help her.

At around one in the morning, when the sobs had still not subsided, and he could hear her tossing and turning, Haymitch decided to do something about it. He slipped out of his bed, quickly smelling himself and finding himself to be pleasantly fresh in comparison to his normal stench, and slid the key into the lock of her room. All the mentors and escorts were given keys to their tributes rooms, only to be used in emergencies of course, just in case they were urgently needed. Haymitch gently pushed her door open and entered her room, seeing the lamp next to her bed to still be on.

Her hair was splayed across the pillows of the double bed, and her cheeks were stained with tears. The covers were pulled up right over her chin, covering the blue dress she had yet again neglected to change, and her eyes were sharp with colour, being filled with still unreleased sobs. She tensed up when he entered the room, having a reasonable excuse for being afraid of him, but when he sat on the edge of the bed, and gently wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb, she relaxed, and he brushed her flaming red hair from her face.

He kissed her gently on the temple and was about to leave, without having said a word, hoping his simple actions had calmed her, before she grasped his hand and whispered, 'Please don't leave me.' The quiet fear was enough to break anyone's intentions and will, no matter how stubborn. 'Okay, I'll stay,' he said in a hushed voice, and he pulled back the covers and slowly clambered into the large double bed with her, his body wrapped in new trousers and a t-shirt from the Capitol drawers, and he held her delicate form in his strong arms the whole night long.


	13. Thirteen

The first thing Albany was aware of the next morning was that she was alone, even though she had drowsy memories of what had happened earlier this day. She outstretched her hand, searching for Haymitch and the comfort he had provided her with, but there was a large space filled only by the rest of her quilt. She frowned slightly, but then fluttered open her eyelids, and groggily stared up. There were three people there, hanging over her, and smiling eerily. She screamed loudly and piercingly before leaping out of her bed and running to the door without a second look.

'No, no, no darling, it's okay. We're your stylists,' one of the three exclaimed, chuckling like he had been given some sort of cocktail. Albany stopped tugging on the door handle and then turned around to face the three people. One, the man who had spoken, was of dark skin, but had fluorescent turquoise tattoos all over his bald skull and arms. The same colour was smeared across his lips and nails, and the clothes he wore made him look like a piece of abstract artwork. The one standing next to him, a young woman, had hair longer than her knees, which was ebony black in colour, and contrasting against the pallor of her skin. She had another strange feature; one eye was purple, but the other was golden yellow with silver flecks.

The third member of the party, another woman, was very difficult to recognize as actually being human. She was quite unfathomable. Her face was so distorted by surgery that she actually looked like a china doll. Her cheeks were bright red permanently, and her eyes were more circular than the moon, bright blue like sapphires. Her nose was pointed at the end, giving her a look of impatience, and her lips were full and the same type of red as the small caricature circles on her cheeks. Her hair was stereotypically blonde; shiny and soft, and touching just below her shoulder blades. Her body was unrealistically thin, her waist nipping in to the point where she could probably touch the fingers of her opposite hands whilst wrapped around it. 'Who are you guys?' Albany asked.

She decided Haymitch was right; the stylists were three of the creepiest looking people she had ever met, especially when your first view of them was when they were hanging over you first thing in the morning. The doll-like woman smiled brightly and then said, very loudly, 'I'm Pupa, this is Zel-', she pointed at the other girl, '-short for Rapunzel, and then he's called Fugio.' The names were strange, alike the ones given by their parents to the richer District's children, but it was to be expected.

'Oh darling, how long ago did you cut your hair? Your split ends are unbelievable!' Fugio exclaimed loudly, like he was expecting a heart attack at any given moment as to her appearance. To be fair, Albany knew she never looked good in the morning, and so her face was bound to be a little out of sorts at the moment. She yawned loudly, and brushed a hand through her hair, tangling her fingers in the knots, which were currently being pulled out already by Fugio.

Albany looked around the room, and then sadly asked, 'Where's Haymitch?' The trio of stylists all looked around in unison, which looked distinctly hilarious, but then Zel sighed out and nodded, causing the others to join in. 'He's talking with Aaron,' she said sweetly, her voice as high pitched as a mouse's squeak, but for some strange reason, she reminded Albany of strawberries. She had no idea where that came from, but on closer analysis, she noticed how Zel had pinkish tinted skin and smelt vaguely of the fruit.

'Who's Aaron?' Albany asked, feeling a little thick at the amount of questions she was being forced to ask. The three Capitol citizens all laughed in the same tone, and then Zel carried on answering the questions. 'Aaron is your main stylist. We just take you to Ground Base Zero, and then he makes you up for the opening ceremony. Oh, it's so exciting,' she babbled hyperactively, jumping up and down and clapping like Annie used to when Albany would give in and play hide and seek with her in the Community Centre.

Things were beginning to piece together now; tonight was the opening ceremony where all the tributes were introduced to the Capitol. Yesterday had been the almost two day long journey to their temporary home, and the day before had been the day of the Reaping. The day she had been chosen as tribute. The day no one volunteered. Albany scratched her head, but before she could gather her bearings and check the time, she was ushered out of the room, into the elevator and down into the make-up room.

She was persuaded into a small leather chair, where she sat in her incredibly crumpled blue dress and was immediately tossed onto her back, the chair flipping backwards and elongating into a comfortable bed-like contraption. She had never seen one, but she had been told this is what the beds were like in hospitals in District Eight. She let out a squeal of surprise, but the stylists reassured her in their high pitched voices and then began waxing her legs.

She winced as the eighteen years' worth of hair was removed from her thin legs and gripped the sides of the bed. 'Don't worry darling, this is the worst bit,' Fugio trilled, still combing the knots out of her wavy locks, trying not to break any of his three inch long nails.

After this painful process was over, Albany was sat up in her bed-chair, and was wheeled over to a long, full length mirror. When there, Fugio took great pleasure in using what looked like spikes connected to a bit of plastic to brush through her hair, finally ridding it of the horrid tangles and knots. That was quite painful as well. He gave her auburn locks a quick trim to neaten up the ends, and then left her hair. 'Oh, your hair is gorgeous! That colour was in last week, and I tried to get it, but it didn't work very well!' Pupa gossiped, and Albany pretended to be interested.

Her face was the quickest to do. Seeing as she was naturally quite pretty, and had not suffered any bruises or pains apart from a late night, her skin was in good condition. Zel applied some powder to the skin below her eyes to cover up the black bags, and Pupa curled her eyelashes, whilst Fugio applied some moisturising balm to her cracked lips.

During this time, Albany had fully awakened and discovered that the time was nearly twelve, midday. She had missed breakfast because she had overslept, but just before Aaron was announced, Pupa handed her a roll, with cheddar inside, which she quickly munched on, irritated that she had missed another meal. Albany could feel the nervousness rising up inside of her in anticipation of meeting Aaron. She sincerely hoped he wasn't the creep guy from last year who had insisted that wearing no clothes at all was totally in at the moment.

Fugio, Zel and Pupa all excused themselves from the room, wishing Albany good luck for the future, and giving her hyperactive advice on how to untangle her hair in the mornings, before Aaron entered the room, encased in metallic walls and a sleek floor, and strode over to her. He dismissed Fugio, Zel and Pupa from the room, and pulled Albany from her chair in front of the mirror and stood her up in front of him.

He was tall, and slim, but with slanted eyes that looked more natural than surgically enhanced. His hair was black, like Zel's, but short and cropped around his ears, and gelled into a small quiff. He wore thick black rimmed glasses and a stud in one ear. He was about thirty years old, at a guess, and Albany recognized him from last year. But he had styled District Two this time last year; who would want to degrade by ten Districts? Especially to Twelve - the "scummy" inhabitants of Panem.

Aaron didn't say anything, but just simply looked at her face, and let his eyes scan over her figure, which was obvious through the small cornflower blue dress. He didn't have one particular expression, just one of concentration as he stared and examined and observed her. And he didn't say a word at all through the ten minutes he spent just looking at her. He ran his fingers through the ends of her hair - something everyone seemed to be doing this morning - and then sat down in her seat.

'Your hair is beautiful you know,' he muttered, stroking his chin metaphorically, and Albany blushed slightly. When Fugio had said it earlier, hey, it had been something she had ignored, but this guy was completely different. He could make an impression - last year, for District Two, the District for mining and quarrying metals, he had designed the female tribute a dress made entirely from basic scraps of metal; copper, aluminium, zinc and gold. The whole thing had been layered up and shone in every single light. The tributes had looked incredible.

'So, Haymitch came to see me this morning about the outfits for the opening ceremony. He wants something different,' Aaron said quietly, and Albany found herself stopping her breathing in order so she could hear him properly, 'I have to agree. Last year was a disaster; we don't want anything like that again.' Albany nodded mutely, at a loss of what to say. Well, at least Haymitch was sober today; that was a bit of a relief.

'District Twelve - you never make the right impression. I watched your Reaping. Didn't go well did it?' Aaron asked, and Albany blushed further and shook her head, hanging it to the ground do he couldn't see her face. 'We should focus more on the coal aspect of the District, but not necessarily the bulkiness of it,' he continued, using his hands to display his point. Albany nodded again.

'Are you an Avox or something?' Aaron questioned intently, standing from her chair and walking towards her, to which she quickly shook her head and murmured, 'No. I just don't have any ideas.'

Aaron smiled through thin pink lips and muttered, 'Good thing I do then Miss Vogel.'

**-HungerGames-**

Looking at the dress was one thing, but wearing it was something wholly different. From the sketches he had shown her, it looked pretty good. Then, when he instructed to Pupa to bring it in, and show it to her, it had looked beautiful. But then, when she had been stitched inside it, four hours before the actual ceremony, Albany had had to accept that it was the most stunning thing she had ever seen in her entire life. In the Community Centre, the younger ones wore the clothes which had been outgrown, and the older ones, like Albany, wore the stuff given to them by the Matrons. Albany's blue dress had been a piece of luck, seeing as everything else usually looked like something an elderly woman would wear.

But this dress was sheer black in the majority. The fabric was silk - soft and feather like and reflective in the lights cast upon her as she stood on the small podium, being dressed her styling team as Aaron watched on, making sure everything was looking perfect. The sleeves were long, to her wrists, but lace flowers all the way down them. The top part of the dress was encrusted in so many onyx gems that they blinded her when she looked down. The bottom half of the dress was ruffled, but not in a messy way, and had grey shimmer covering the silk. The back of the dress was so long that it crossed across half the room, like a huge wedding train. Because of her extremely pale skin, the black contrasted in a noir fashion, and slimmed her to the point where she looked too thin to be real.

But this dress made her look deadly as well, unforgiving and harsh and cold. The black was a symbol of not only the coal, but of her tragic life, and how she was mourning. If she had not known better, she would've said that Aaron had used the coal as a decoy to blame the Capitol for her being picked. Her hair was currently un-styled, and her make-up was bare, making the dress seem a little friendlier, but Albany could tell that when it was all done, she wouldn't be able to recognize herself. She couldn't stop looking though, twirling in sight of the mirror, brushing her fingers against the fabric of the material.

It made her feel so mature, so adult, and it gave her some sort of confidence as well. She was glad that Aaron hadn't represented her in the same way as she had done herself at the Reaping - as a foolish little girl - but as a strong, dangerous woman. It was a killer look - in both senses of the word. Albany had no doubt that when the crowd saw her in this dress, they wouldn't recognize her either.

But there were still three hours until the ceremony now, and it was time for hair and make-up. Albany had never been treated in luxury, and whilst some tributes in the past had hated this whole chic dressing up regime, she adored being made to look beautiful; like the Ugly Duckling turning into a swan. That's what the dress reminded her of - a black swan; beautiful, suave, yet mysterious and violent and completely lethal.

Her hair, the only source of colour in her appearance, was curled slightly, to give a more balanced look rather than flat-wavy, and then piled neatly on top of her head, two long strands being left to hang by her face and frame it. The make-up took a considerably long time, around about ninety minutes to get it absolutely the way Aaron wanted it. By the end, her eyelids were coated in black eye shadow, and her usually ginger eyelashes were impregnable in a thick layer of something the Capitol called mascara. Her lips were the deepest red you could go red before being black, like the colour of squashed blueberries. Her cheeks had lost their freckles under white shimmering powder. Holes were punched in her ears which were then threaded with huge black earrings.

She didn't look like herself anymore. It was like some stranger had clambered into the mirror and was now waving back at her, mimicking her movements. This stranger was incredible, like nothing she had ever seen before in her simple town. It was then that Albany really began to panic. She slumped down into the leather seat, and clapped her hands to her face, trying not to smudge the make-up.

She was supposed to stand there, alongside Trey, who was bound to be looking impressive and handsome no matter what he was dressed in, in front of nearly five hundred thousand people, and then the rest of Panem as the cameras broadcast her all over the twelve Districts. The same as her Reaping, but then completely different. She had time to freak out about this - the Reaping had been a surprise. Everything Aaron said to her rebounded off her like an invisible shield.

With ten minutes to go she began hyperventilating. 'I can't do it,' she stammered, holding onto Aaron's sleeve, trying desperately hard not to break down into tears and ruin his hard work. Aaron looked at her, the same way he had when he had analysed her earlier, and then sat her back down in the seat and muttered from the corner of his mouth to Zel _Go and get him_. At that moment, Albany didn't know who _him_ referred to. She was too busy biting on her knuckles to prevent herself from crying out. Normally, she would bite her nails, but they had been too prettily painted.

Just five minutes before she was expected to leave, _him _arrived. She didn't see him initially, but when he placed one hand on either of her shoulders and stared at her in the mirror, she almost collapsed with relief. 'Haymitch,' she breathed out, 'Oh Haymitch, I can't do this.' He squeezed her shoulders, and she gave a subtle sniff and smelt that he hadn't been drinking at all today - he smelt the same now as he had at one o'clock this morning.

'Albany, you need to believe in yourself,' he said firmly. But she couldn't. This girl in the mirror, she had never met her before. She didn't know what she was like, let alone if she should trust her. She looked vicious and magnificent and harsh, like the sort of person you would want to speak to but be too scared of being shunned by. She looked intelligent and sharp, but a completely separate person to Albany Vogel. She was a Black Swan - made beautiful by make-up and metres of silk and grey powder. 'If you don't believe in yourself, the crowd won't believe in you.'

'But I don't believe in myself,' she whispered, her voice trembling, tears threatening to ruin the wonderful work Aaron had done for the last hour. 'I believe in you. That should be enough,' he whispered in her ear. That last sentence sent goose bumps down her arms. She pulled herself together in time to stand up and whisper, 'Thank you. That means a lot,' before almost falling into his arms and embracing him.

He smiled as she held onto him, and she felt some of her confidence rising. Slowly, she let her grip on him slacken a little, and allowed Haymitch to walk her to the carriages outside which led into the arena. Aaron hastened alongside as well, quickly readjusting her hair with a few pins which were attached to his shirt collar. Trey joined them outside the huge arena - not the one they would be competing in, but an almost century old one filled with thousands of people - and was wearing a simple black suit. He looked nervous, and for that Albany was glad.

Just before the carriage, pulled by coal black horses, began to move into the arena, Albany shot a look of terror at Haymitch and began stuttering and burbling like a crazy person. He couldn't let her go in like that. He briefly stepped into the luxury carriage, and did the first thing which occurred to him - he kissed her, mainly to just shut her up. Well, at least after that she looked more confused than terrified...


	14. Fourteen

'Come on Vogel! Get up! You've got training in an hour's time and you need breakfast!' Haymitch yelled, banging his fist on her door as she stirred awake. He waited two minutes, before hearing an audible groan and then a huge thud hit the floor, and he walked away to the huge breakfast table, satisfied that she was awake. He didn't know what to do with this girl; first of all, he comforted her, then he got angry and drunk because of her, and now he had a thumping headache because he hadn't touched alcohol in twenty four hours because of her. Plus the fact he had kissed her.

That had been a basic mistake.

Didn't mean he hadn't enjoyed it.

Because he had, and now he felt incredibly guilty because of it. He couldn't go around doing that, because she was going into the arena, she was probably going to die, and he didn't want to become emotionally attached to someone he knew he was going to lose. He was finding it difficult though. She ignited something in him that no one had been able to in the last four years, and he really felt like he needed to at least try and save her. But even he couldn't perform miracles, and the Careers were really, really strong this year.

He wondered how long she would last. At the moment, he was guessing a few days. She wasn't stupid, but she wasn't strong. She wouldn't be able to kill someone, even if in self-defence, without breaking down, and he wouldn't be inside the arena to help her when it happened. He hoped that in her three days of training, beginning today, she might be able to toughen up so she could last a little longer.

Inside her room, Albany managed to crawl from her knees to her feet and stumble to the bathroom. Her face was still covered in the make-up from yesterday and a lot had rubbed off onto her pillow and then smeared down her face. She spent five minutes splashing cold water onto her cheeks, using some of the scrub by the sink to get all the gloopy stuff off her eyelashes, before she looked less like a mockingjay and more like a human being. She used a piece of loo roll that she put under the sink to wipe the lipstick from her mouth.

She, for the first time, looked through the huge wardrobe in her room for what she wanted to wear for training, only to find that Aaron had already set something out for her. There were dark blue leggings and dark brown leather boots that were moulded nicely to her petite feet, and a long forest green pinafore with a belt which looked very fetching against her hair. She tied her waist length locks into a ponytail and quickly checked her appearance in the mirror in her bathroom before leaving for breakfast.

It was on her way down the corridor of their floor that Albany realized she didn't have a token from her District. Annie had made a little star from some sparkly paper they had somehow managed to get hold of from District Seven, but she must've forgotten it or not been allowed to bring it with her when she visited. It made her feel a little empty, like she was unwanted by her District and that no one really cared. Trey probably had a billion tokens.

She entered the breakfast room, and greeted everyone amiably before taking a seat opposite Haymitch and avoided his eyes. She simply took a mug of hot chocolate - a nice hot drink Mara had told her about on the train a few days back - and sipped at its sweetness, and dunked a bit of bread inside it, testing whether the taste was right or not. She decided it was, and kept to the rolls.

'Albany, you've got to eat something other than bread,' Mara pointed out concernedly, offering her some fruit, and a plate of egg and bacon. Albany just shrugged her shoulders and responded slowly with, 'I'm okay thank you.' Mara raised her eyebrows, but then shrugged it off, knowing that she didn't really have any power at all. She turned to Trey, who was consuming sausages and egg like there was no tomorrow. He had donned a completely different outfit to Albany - something Haymitch had asked Aaron to do. He didn't want Albany and Trey to be seen as a "team", it didn't work.

An Avox boy placed a bottle of rum in front of Haymitch, and Haymitch began to shake before raising his hand and telling the boy to take it away before he succumbed to the drink he had been consuming for the past four years. Mara actually dropped her fork onto the floor, and let her mouth, still full of food, hang open in surprise. Haymitch smiled good-naturedly and winked at Albany. She was, too, in a state of shock, but not as bad as Mara. In fact she smiled back at him.

'So, Haymitch, no alcohol this morning?' Trey asked, and Haymitch grinned and started shovelling food down his throat. 'Nope, I've decided you two aren't completely hopeless cases and I'm going to help you.' Trey looked surprised at this, but dropped his hard-man act for a second and said, 'Thanks mate. We could so with some help.' He turned to Albany and raised an eyebrow, motioning her to agree with him, which she hastened to do.

'Is everyone ready for training though?' Mara asked intently, setting down her cutlery to demonstrate the seriousness of her question. Trey nodded, but Albany stopped dunking bread in her drink and hesitated. 'I-I don't know if I'm going to b-be very good at it,' she stammered nervously, not daring to look up out of embarrassment. Even though Trey was a boy, and had been working in the coal mines for two years already, he was still two years younger and it was humiliating for her to be more useless than him.

'But here's some advice: don't make allies with any of the Careers. Trust me, two years ago that girl Taranee...' Haymitch began, giving the tributes the first bit of knowledge they could possibly use, but Trey interrupted him. 'Yeah, she got in with one of them and then he killed her in her sleep.' Haymitch nodded in approval, feeling something that wasn't annoyance for the boy for the first time. At least he was taking it a bit more seriously now, and was doing some actual research into the Hunger Games.

'Now, I want you two to split up and train separately. I know it might not seem like it now, but you won't be working as a team inside the arena, and you may end up having to kill one another.' At any other time in her life, Albany would have laughed, but she knew he was being deadly serious. She nodded sombrely, but could not help but look in Trey's direction, who was also looking at her. He gave her a lopsided smile, but it was something kind rather than vicious or paralysing.

Ten minutes later, when Albany had had all the hot chocolate she could stomach, and Trey was finished shovelling food down his throat, Mara accompanied the two into the glass elevator so they could travel down to the training room. The last thing Haymitch had said to them was, 'We'll discuss everything at dinner tonight. Try your best, and if that doesn't work then improvise. Make yourself look good, but not too good.' He had then looked directly at Albany for the first time since last night and mouthed the words, 'Good luck.'

Every time she closed her eyes, she could picture the moment he had leant towards her and brushed his lips against her own. He still had that really faint taste of whiskey, but she had liked it. It had stunned both her and Trey, who had given her a questioning look as they rode into the arena, but she had been too shocked to do anything. When they had stepped out of the carriage, the kiss flooded her head, and her true reaction to it had shone. She smiled brightly, for the first time since before the Reaping, and waved boldly, but not letting her sudden joy overpower her image. She had had to remain silent, only waving in direction of the extreme applause she had received.

She seemed to doze off slightly inside the lift, and when they reached the bottom floor, the training level, Mara had to tap her on the shoulder to alert her to the fact that they had arrived. Around eighteen of the other tributes had already arrived, but none of them recognized her from the night before. They had all been stunned by the Black Swan, but this flimsy girl was a nobody. She was almost glad for that. Mara pinned the number 12 on her front and back, wished the two of them good luck, more audibly than Haymitch had, and then left, waving as she travelled upwards in the elevator and then out of sight.

Oh boy, it just got real. Forget last night, this was where the real Hunger Games began.

**-HungerGames-**

'This is where your training really begins. You have three days of training, and on the third day you will have your private session with the Gamemakers. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour,' Tilly trilled loudly, the main Trainer in this room. She was a woman of around forty years old, but she looked about half that due to the cosmetic surgery she had probably overdosed on. She dismissed all the tributes and everyone headed to where they felt their skill was best tried.

Albany had spent the whole time here just staring at all the other tributes. The twins from Ten were both quite plump, having a mother as a Victor, but were completely silent. The little girl from Eleven was quite tall, but still looked a lot younger, and she had a very fragile frame. The boy from Two was absolutely huge, about three times the size of even Trey, and there was a boy in a wheelchair from Seven. Albany had the funniest feeling he wasn't going to last very long. The only other person who stuck out from the crowd was the girl from Eight; she looked relatively normal until you saw the huge scar running down her right cheek. It made her immediately distinguishable.

When Tilly sent them all off, the Careers, as was probably usual, went sprinting off to the sword and knife and other sharp weapons section, and began chucking everything around and hitting the targets perfectly. That was not a reassuring thing to watch, Albany thought faintly as her feet directed her towards the first station she could find, which turned out to be archery.

Great, time to make a fool out of herself. She had never used a bow before; some of the girls in the Community Centre used to go hunting the woods, but it had never really appealed to her. The boy in the wheelchair, who Albany had automatically ruled out as a contestant, was already started, and had hit the centre target immediately. Okay, don't rule anyone out, Albany thought nervously as the tutor gave her a bow and arrow, fixing her stance to what was best for a shot. The first release missed the target board completely.

The second arrow hit the outer white ring, and she presumed that was bad, but Albany didn't really have the first clue. The third arrow hit a bit closer in the inner blue ring. That was a lot better, even the tutor told her. So for the next hour and a half, until lunchtime, Albany practised her non-existent archery skills until she really began to feel confident that she was getting quite good. A multitude of people joined her, all them already being quite excellent, including the girl from Eight, who tried to engage in conversation. Albany briefly answered her, but made it clear she wasn't looking for acquaintances.

At lunch, Albany filled her plate with two sandwiches and some fruit, and went and sat in a corner in the canteen by herself. People tried to join her and speak, but she just ignored them, on Haymitch's orders, and sat in silence.

'You know, if you want to be the one everybody goes after, you're going the right way about it,' someone suddenly said, sitting down opposite her, slamming their tray on the table loudly. Albany jerked her head up and stared at the person sat there. It was the boy twin from Ten. He smiled briefly at her, although she felt a little patronized by the thought that he was actually only fifteen.

'What do you mean?' Albany asked before she could stop herself. She dropped her sandwich onto her plate and waited for the answer. 'Well, by distancing yourself from everyone, you're making yourself seem really stuck up. People aren't going to ally with you, and by what happened at your Reaping, you're the obvious target,' he explained simply, continuing to eat like what he had said didn't impact him in any way.

Albany didn't quite know what to say to that. Instead she nodded, in a half kind of thanks, and the boy left without even telling her his name. Haymitch's advice was a lot of rubbish then, apparently. Maybe she really did need to talk to people, make some allies so inside the arena she wasn't completely alone. But going against what Haymitch had specifically told her what to do? That was going to take some guts. And Albany didn't know if she had them. But then again, was she going to take advice from the boy trying to kill her, or the man trying to save her?


	15. Fifteen

The rest of the training day passed without much incidence, but Albany did have a very near-injury experience when one of the Careers she was practising knife-throwing with, directed a very sharp blade at her face and just missed slicing her nose off. However, she neglected to notice that it had just grazed against her nose and didn't realize until one of the medics pulled her from training and stitched up the skin on her nose and wiped the blood from her lips. Her first drawn blood in the Hunger Games - how much more would there be?

Feeling rather annoyed that this had happened, Albany promptly tripped the girl from District Two over and then pretended like it was an accident, and even helped her up. But whilst she was huge and bulky, she wasn't stupid, and immediately realized that Albany had done it on purpose and leapt at her, grabbed her by the head and started smacking her against the wall. Luckily Tilly noticed this immediately and then wrenched the girl away from Albany and sent them to different stations. Which was irritating - she had been getting quite good with the knife.

Albany, who was still rubbing her head, traipsed to the edible plants section which seemed to be as disastrous as the rest of the day. She almost choked on some sort of poisonous berry and then ended up squirting some acidic strawberry-like juice into her eye and had to dunk her head in a bowl of cold water. By the end of the day, she was ready to just collapse into her bed and cry herself to sleep. Training was extremely rigorous and difficult, even though she didn't get a lot done all day, and she promised herself there and then that she would work better tomorrow. She had been through archery, knife practise, edibility tests and had had a brief time at camouflage, which she was surprisingly good at.

She and Trey, who had spent the day mainly with the boy in the wheelchair from District Seven (apart from the archery), met up by the elevator and then went hurtling up to their floor, where Mara and Haymitch were waiting for them, eagerly anticipating their arrival. Mara immediately started panicking about Albany's nose and the bruise accumulating around her jawbone. Albany winced when Mara started poking it to see if it was okay, and she caught Haymitch's eye and found him grinning at her.

'Well done Vogel, getting into fights already,' Haymitch said sarcastically, in a resigned tone, like he had been expecting it.

'Well, you know me, quite the vicious one,' she said and everyone smirked at this, even Mara. Albany was anything but vicious. 'Okay, you two, go and get cleaned up and we'll talk more at dinner, and discuss some ideas and tactics for tomorrow,' Haymitch said clearly and sent Trey and Albany off to change out of their dirty clothes into something fresh.

As soon as the two were out of earshot, Mara quickly grabbed Haymitch by the wrist and glared at him. He grimaced at her and sent her a questioning look, and yelled, 'Mara? What the hell are you doing?'

'Be careful around that girl. Don't let her get hurt because of you,' Mara warned sternly, and Haymitch hadn't a clue what she was trying to insinuate. 'Remember what happened to Noe. Don't let another young girl get murdered by those the Capitol because you can't cope with this,' she hissed loudly and Haymitch frowned widely. He didn't understand what she was trying to say.

'What on earth are you talking about?' he asked loudly, an expression of incredulity crossing his features. 'And, you know, I haven't had a drop of alcohol in two days! I can cope!'

'You don't have a clue about the impression you make on people do you Haymitch?' Mara asked in exasperation. 'She's a young girl, who is probably going to die in a week's time; you can't let anything happen,' she said fiercely, and Haymitch began to realize what she was talking about.

'What? There's nothing going on between Albany and I! She's a tribute, I know she's going to die; I wouldn't put myself through that, let alone her. She's a sweet girl, but I could never fall for someone like her,' Haymitch explained, his voice getting louder and louder until he was pretty sure he was shouting.

'You did. Noe - Albany is the spitting image of her. That's why you can't keep your eyes off her. That's why you can go without drink to help her,' Mara yelled furiously, 'that's why you're helping her more than you're helping Trey!'

'You're just seeing things that aren't there Mara!' Haymitch roared, 'I'm her mentor, it's my job to look after her! You can't yell at me for trying to help her out!'

'Then why have you never done this before? You've let six people die because you were too selfish and you were just consumed by hatred!' Mara shrieked, her ridiculous Capitol accent overpowering his ears and giving him a worse headache than any amount of alcohol could. She looked absolutely raging, and this was when Haymitch realized she had never shouted like this before, she had never really said much to him. Time to let out the feelings then.

'Try watching your whole family get murdered, and then do my job!' Haymitch shouted back, punching the wall with his fist, making a small crack, 'Do you want me to ignore her, and just throw her in the arena with no preparation? Because the Capitol has already killed her, I'm just trying to delay it as much as possible!'

The recognition, finally, that it was the Capitol's fault all this had happened, filled him with an immeasurable surge of anger which he again took out on the wall, actually punching a hole through it, making his hand bleed.

The racket being made had stirred both Albany and Trey to the fact that something bad was going on, and they were both sat outside their rooms, around the corner so they couldn't be seen to be eavesdropping. The argument filled the hallway, echoing off every wall, reverberating the truth about them. It wasn't exactly the most modest fight.

'She's not going to make it; you cannot get attached to her!' Mara replied, trying hard to calm herself down, but failing miserably. Too long had she let Haymitch's repulsive behaviour continue, and she had had enough of watching people die. But he was doing his job this year, that wasn't the issue - it was that he was doing it for, in her opinion, the wrong reasons.

'I know she's going to die! She can't fight - she's too nice to kill anyone! I'm just trying to give her a few more days,' he protested, unaware that Albany was tentatively listening to every word he was saying. She was frightened of how weak they thought her to be, and then, with a sinking feeling, she discovered they were right. She wouldn't be able to kill anyone - her "revenge" today had been tripping someone over. Pathetic.

'Well, I won't stop you from doing that seeing as you're actually trying, but just keep that in your head. Albany Vogel is already dead,' Mara stated harshly, and she saw the hairs on Haymitch's arms stand up, and goose pimples to run up his arms at the bluntness of it. Around the corner, Albany began to shake violently, Trey just watching, unable to do anything to help. Albany Vogel is already dead. I am already dead.

'Fine, I won't waste my time with her. I'll help Trey seeing as he could just make it. I'll just let her down, shall I? Like everyone else in my life?' he asked sarcastically, his eyes gleaming with malice and anger, and then his rage seemed to pop like a bubble and the sadness became evident on his face.

Mara seemed to notice this, and then remembered her status in the Games. Escorts came well below Mentors on the hierarchy; she had no place to be speaking to him like this. 'Oh, Haymitch, you haven't let anyone down...'

'"You let six people die because you were too selfish"? Yeah, I haven't let anyone down. There are so many dead people on my conscience that I can't even think straight without seeing their faces, haunting me every night. I can't live with myself so I try and drown myself every day; I try and end it all every day. I've reached the point where I can't let myself feel guiltier because I know it'll kill me.'

That was something he had never said before. Something he never wanted to say again. Because expressing his true feelings really wasn't his thing. It just made him seem weak, and that was something he could never do.

'Haymitch, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you felt...' Mara apologized, trying desperately to make up for what she had said. But he was grateful - he needed to know what she thought because he was obviously going to have to change himself and his relationship with Albany.

'Leave it Mara. I'm going to help them both, and that's it. I only want to die before I have to watch anyone else get slaughtered because of me.' And with that, he spun around on his heel, and stormed down the corridor.

Before he turned into his room, pushing the door open, he caught sight, from the corner of his eye, of a flash of red. He turned around to see Albany a few metres away, just standing there, tears streaming down her cheeks. He didn't know if she was crying for him or for herself. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, before closing the door behind him and ordering a bottle of scotch. He couldn't do this anymore.

-HungerGames-

No one went to dinner that night. No one went to breakfast in the morning. Trey and Albany went to training, although Albany's heart wasn't in it and even Trey seemed a little dismantled by the row last night. Haymitch stayed in his room all day, probably just drinking until he collapsed. Mara was most likely panicking about how screwed up everything had become. The day was a waste - a waste of training, a waste of living really. The whole atmosphere on floor twelve just seemed dead. Just like Albany Vogel.

Sometime between six and seven in the evening, just as the sun was setting across the horizon, Albany crept onto the roof. Earlier, when she had gotten in from another disastrous day of training, the door had been open, and she had spied upon what it had hidden. It was peaceful up here, even with the motorcars and the people and the bustling and hooting down below. A place where she could just sit and relax for the first time in five days, and probably for the last time. The last sunset.

She hadn't truly thought before about the fact she was going to die. Surely it shouldn't bother her as much as it does, because, really, did she even have a reason to live? Annie was gone, there was no one in the Community Centre, Trey would get over losing a fellow tribute, Mara would move on, and Haymitch would...

Well, Haymitch would probably drink himself into oblivion as usual. The thought that he had been drinking again angered her beyond all reason; sure, he had made no solemn vows that he would stop drinking, but he had told her at the Reaping, in fact he promised, that he would try and help her. How was drowning his sorrows in scotch and brandy going to help her?

And then she remembered. She was already dead. And how could you help a dead girl?

Last night, she had cried, but then she had been so shocked by what had been said that she had just been numb all night long, just listening to the sound of her own heart, ticking away, pumping for the last few times. Her joints had been stiff all day, and she had been unable to keep her hands steady. Training was important, but she just had failed today. And she had her private session tomorrow; what the hell was she supposed to do?

With all these thoughts just disabling her from making any rational plans, Albany perched on the edge of the roof and watched yellow, orange and red merge into blue, grey and black. She couldn't let the tears fall anymore. Death was something she could accept, it was the dying part that frightened her. She hoped it would be quick though, not some long arduous torture.

She hardly noticed how much time had passed until she suddenly felt someone sit down on the tiled rooftop next to her and say, 'It's well past your bedtime Vogel.' It was the first time they had been alone together since before the opening ceremony, all the other times Trey and Mara and the other tributes from the Districts had been there. Now it was just them, on top of a roof - one admittedly suicidal person and another who was going to die anyway.

He didn't smell at all of alcohol, and he wasn't slurring. He was completely sober. The realization that he hadn't abandoned her sent her completely over the edge. Luckily for him, he had an inkling of what she was about to do.

Albany almost leapt on him, wrapping her arms halfway around his upper torso, clutched the material of his shirt in her tiny fists and sobbed into his chest, whispering distortedly through broken cries, the words I don't want to die. Haymitch carefully removed his left arm from its place, stuck to his ribs by her body, and cradled it around her shoulders, pulling her up to a sitting position rather than lying across the roof.

He shushed her, like her problem was no greater than that of a toddler who had fallen over and cut their knees. He gave her someone to cry on, someone to break down in front of, but he offered her no words of support. Because they wouldn't be real, they would just be lies. Unless she suddenly got a very huge personality change and turned into a psychopathic killing maniac, then she was going to be dead. And he knew she knew that. She wasn't stupid.

Suddenly, as if someone had flicked a switch, Albany stood to her feet and looked around in bewilderment, and started to push Haymitch off her, like he was the most repugnant thing she had ever seen. She escaped from his grip and started running down the roof, to the edge, where the building stood nearly two hundred feet high. Realizing her intention, Haymitch leapt to his feet and grabbed her by the waist just as she made a start at jumping.

He clutched at her waist as she began to wildly flail her limbs and then turned to face him, and just started hitting in the chest, on the arms, wherever she could find a bit of him that she could slap she would. She wasn't crying now - she looked positively demonized, possessed by something. There was something seriously wrong with her head.

And then, adding to weirdness, she began to burble, walking away from the edge, trying to run back inside, which at least wasn't an attempt at suicide. 'I've got to go home,' she said clearly, politely even, like Haymitch was just someone in her way, 'I've got to go back because Annie, she's only six you see, she doesn't know how to do the washing up, and they'll tell her off for it...'

'Albany, Annie's gone. She's in District Four. You can't go home,' Haymitch said softly, his own heart breaking as she fell back into his arms and again cried tears of distress into his chest. 'I know, I know. Everyone's gone,' she wept loudly, and he held her in his arms, standing on top of the roof, stroking the back of her hair as she continued to sob into his shirt.

'I'm so sorry this happened to you,' he whispered, and eventually, she began to settle down. Albany wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her jumper and sniffed loudly, inclining her head into the crook of Haymitch's neck. After everything Mara had said to him, after all that was labelled appropriate and inappropriate, he was going to let her in. She needed him, and who knows, he probably needed her. Come on, she must be good for him; he had stopped drinking for her almost subconsciously.

'You want to talk?' he asked reminiscently, and she gave the tiniest smile that was possibly available. She gave a small nod, and then gave a croaky whisper of, 'Might as well. When I'm dead you can write my biography for me.' Instead of laughing, he frowned.

'We spoke all day on the train, but all we talked about was the Games. All I know about you is that you're an orphan and your mother died,' Haymitch murmured and continued briefly with, 'Tell me something about yourself. I can make your biography more interesting if you do.'

She frowned as well, but then began to speak, and told him a little something, a flavour of her childhood.

'When I was four, it was just my mother and I. We lived in the nice part of District Twelve, away from the Seam, and we had this lovely little cottage. We were never really hard for food, but we didn't have as much as some people, but we managed pretty well. I would go to school and come home and mum would've baked lots of cakes which we would sell in order to buy some clothes.

But then when I was five, a few days after my birthday, there was a tiny outbreak of smallpox in our little village place. I got it, but it was quite mild and within a few days I was fine again. A few days after I recovered, my mum caught it from our neighbour, but it was one of the worst cases anyone had ever seen. I wasn't even allowed into her room until it cleared up a bit.

We got someone in, this girl, and she tried to make it better, but my mother was just too weak. The Smallpox virus just completely took over her system, and within a few hours of this girl visiting, she...passed away.'

A breath was taken here, and a small sniff.

'I was immediately distributed to the Community Centre. I cannot tell you how much I hated it. It was like my worst nightmare, trying to live with people I had never met, just after losing mother. I'm not very good with new people.

There was this girl there called Donna, and she was just horrible to me. She would take my nice clothes and end up ripping them before she was twice my size, and she took my bracelet that my mother gave me. I hated her, but I never told her until the day she pushed me over the edge.

She was teasing me about my acne, which I had when I was younger, and then she made some sort of joke about Smallpox. I had had enough of her, and I literally just attacked her, and that's how I got this scar.'

She pointed to the small scar under her chin, and grimaced sadly.

'She got taken away, and I got put into solitary confinement for a few weeks. That was pure hell. I struggled through living in that place for a few years, but then Annie was brought in when she was only two months old. I finally had something to do with my life and it got a lot better from thereon.'

Albany stopped there, a smile on her lips. He was glad she had ended her story on a good note, but he couldn't imagine not being able to see his mother before she died. 'I'm sorry Vogel,' he whispered in her ear, the moon shining brightly down upon the both of them.

'It's okay. Me and you, we're quite similar aren't we?' Albany asked timidly, a little afraid of him saying no to her, thinking it would make her look stupid. Instead, he nodded quietly. 'Yeah - but you're prettier than me by a mile.' There was a small bout of silence which was broken when they both started chuckling. It continued for quite a while longer than it normally would've, but they both needed some sort of comic relief.

They sat in a beautiful tranquillity for a while, the sunshine before the storm.

'It's funny, I lost my girlfriend four years ago, and I still miss her. But there's something about you,' Haymitch whispered intensely, staring deeply at her expression, and then he continued, 'Something I can't quite put my finger on. You're so similar to her, but there's just some quality about you that is so different and I love it.'

'Where do we go from here then?' Albany breathed out, her question vague and probably rhetorical. The truth was where could they go from here? She was going to die in maybe less than two weeks' time, and he was a depressed mentor who only refrained from alcohol when she needed him and it was three days before they would never see each other again. What were three measly days?

'We have three days,' he muttered. She nodded, and shrugged. He decided on what to do. It was reckless and dangerous, and would only end up in even deeper depression and drinking on his part, but he couldn't help himself. She was beautiful.

Due to the fact that his arm was already resting around her shoulders, it was simple enough to lean towards her and kiss her. This time was better than the last; before it had been rushed, but now it felt like they had all the time in the world. The next day brought all of that into perspective though - just three days, and the clock was ticking all the time, counting down to the last beats of her heart.


	16. Sixteen

He could see she was in a real mess right now, and so when, like on the train, she practically begged him not to leave her alone, he clambered into her bed with her, and wrapped his arms around her dainty body, protecting her from all the bad things that came out in the middle of the night. She felt safe, but as his eyes began to close, she hastily murmured, 'Please don't go to sleep. Stay awake with me.' He continued to flutter his eyelids shut, and he stroked her cheek with his thumb and whispered, 'I'm not going to sleep - just… resting my eyes.'

Soon after, Haymitch was dead to the world and to her as well. She wriggled from his grip, and leant up against the backboard of her bed and stared down at him. He was a tortured, flawed person who needed someone to look after him. That was her. It was incredible how something so beautiful could arise out of a situation so ugly. She could barely believe that this had, in itself, actually happened. When she had first met him, well, she had been in no fit state to judge his character, but he seemed like a kind man by the way he had treated her at the Justice Building.

However, then she had seen the part of him that everyone else saw, the part which had been concealed from her during the Reaping. She had felt let down by him in the way that he got so drunk, and was too hung-over to even begin to help them. And then, he had made that jibe about her being useless in the Games, having the same chances as her little Annie. How dare he? She had been so enraged by that statement that she had no choice but to leave. The harshness of his words had made her realize that he was nothing but an arrogant self-centred jerk.

But then he had apologized, and it had been sincere. He became her rock, the person she went to when she needed help, the person everyone first thought of when she couldn't cope - like with her preparations for the opening ceremony - and the man who would give up his addiction to help her. He believed in her, and he had hotly defended her in his argument against Mara. Hearing him say he had no feelings for her had unexpectedly shattered her, and with careful thought, she came to realize it was because she had grown to love him, if only in the five days they had spent together.

But that argument, or rather the bit she and Trey had overheard (he was getting better now, trying harder and being more humble), had once again brought all of her hopes crashing to the ground. Albany Vogel is already dead. She had her training session with the Gamemakers later on today, and she was so worried that her fingernails, the ones Pupa had spent so long manicuring, were worn down to the tips of her fingers. Her plan was to start with some knife-throwing, and do a bit of archery, and then try some camouflage. It was enough to get her a five or a six if she aimed well, and that was an okay score.

The last time she had slept with Haymitch, he had muttered all night, and although the words had been difficult to decipher and understand, she knew he had been suffering from nightmares. And now it was happening again, and she saw his peaceful expression turn to one of pain. She then realized how young he really was. Sure, she was two years his junior, but he was just a boy acting as a Mentor. He still didn't have a clue what he was doing.

He tossed and turned for a few minutes before Albany slipped down under the sheets beside him, her muddy shirt getting all over the white bed sheets, and the metallic part of the stitches on her nose briefly getting caught on the pillowcase. She curled into his chest, and was immediately warmed by his presence. But he still looked troubled.

There had been this little song Albany's mother had taught her when she had been a young child, before she passed away. It was just one little stanza, and her mother had never had the best singing voice, but it was a beautiful melody she used to chase away evil visions that plagued some people. Albany remembered it long after her death, and used to sing it to herself under her breath in the Community Centre - a seven year old child with her head covered by sheets, singing herself to sleep in hope of her mother coming back.

_Sleep softly my dear,_

_The danger is gone,_

_I will not leave,_

_Not you, my loved one._

_Dream some sweet dreams,_

_For you are safe here,_

_In my arms you lay,_

_Sleep softly my dear._

She sang it as quietly as she could, whispering the words in a tune that was long associated with the brighter memories of her childhood. She smiled as the words came so easily, even though she hadn't had the chance to sing them for many years. When Annie was a baby, she used to lullaby her to sleep with this song, and now she was doing the same for the only person left she could love. They were similar again in that respect - all they had was one another. No one else mattered.

The look of calm returned to his cheeks, and with a smile, Albany inclined her head to rest under his chin, and she slowly drifted off, her breathing matching the beats of his heart.

What felt like a second later, Albany was being very gently shaken awake by Haymitch, who looked a little urgent. She groaned groggily and hit him slightly on the arm, and he chuckled at this and then muttered, 'Come on Vogel, we've overslept. You've got to get down to training in half an hour.' This didn't concern her as much as it would have done yesterday, or the day before for that matter. She had her action plan, and although she didn't have high hopes, she knew she wasn't that bad.

While she changed into a cleaner version of the same outfit she had worn yesterday (with Haymitch facing the door, with his back turned to her), a sudden observation made its way into her mind. 'You didn't mutter last night,' she informed him, telling him it was okay for him to turn around as she attempted to tie up her hair into a ponytail. Haymitch looked confused, and demonstrated his misunderstanding by asking, 'What?'

'Last time, the day on the train, you muttered in your sleep. But, last night there was nothing. Not even a snore,' Albany told him in a matter-of-factly kind of voice, still adjusting her hair which was incredibly knotty after sitting on the roof in the wind for four hours last night.

'They've stopped screaming,' was all Haymitch whispered, and Albany couldn't pretend to understand what he meant by that. Instead she smiled at him and together they left her room, and ran for breakfast.

**-HungerGames-**

Trey Brunwin was the kind of kid that you either aspired to be like in the future, or the kid you aspired to slap sometime in the future. At just sixteen, he had already been working in the mines for a year after gaining special access from the Peacekeepers, and he had racked up a fair amount of money to look after his parents and his two younger sisters. From the outside, he was a strong, handsome and strapping young lad, but who played out to be cocky, arrogant and all other things you would expect from someone so talented.

But although he had shown off when he was picked as tribute, and although he had boasted to Haymitch of how he believed he would win easily, he was just as terrified as Albany, perhaps even more so. He envied her in the respect that she had no one who would mind if she was gone, and no one who she had to impress. He had five adoring girls who followed him around like lapdogs, a huge family he had to aid his father in feeding, and a huge fan base at his school who were all expecting him to win.

He blamed his weakness in these Games on Albany Vogel. If he hadn't somehow managed to fall in love with her all those years ago, when he was just a kid, well, none of this would be a problem. If it came to it, he would kill her without it even crossing his mind, but now it would be like stabbing himself. He had known from the moment he saw her that he loved her - she had played a star in some play that their school had produced three years back, and whilst she had flushed red throughout the whole thing, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her.

And now, he was going to be locked in an arena with her, where the only way he could live was to kill her. It was going to be hell. But no offense and all, but if it came to it, he would kill her rather than sacrifice himself because love for a girl was less important than being able to provide for his family. But he would try and avoid murdering her for as long as was possible - let someone else get to her first - seeing as he really didn't want to be the one of the receiving end of Haymitch's wrath.

Trey had seen the way his Mentor looked at the girl he loved, and he hated it. Haymitch, the most historic drunkard in the whole of District Twelve, had fallen for her in just five days, whereas Trey had been suffering in this agony for three long years. It wasn't fair! And after all that stuff Haymitch had said the other day about her already being dead, Trey found it difficult to believe that she would ever pick him. He might start working on his plan to woo her today - three days was better than nothing after all.

He awoke rather late that day and was in a bit of a rush to get out of his room and get down to training. Because he and Albany were District Twelve tributes, they wouldn't have their final training session with the Gamemakers until last and so he had all day to figure out what his plan was going to be. He wanted something high, in the double figures like the Careers normally got, seeing as he figured he could probably join them once they were inside the arena. He was pretty sure they would want him to tag along, being incredibly tall and strong and all.

Just as Trey exited his room, he heard the quiet mumblings of two people around the corner. Recognizing them as Albany and Haymitch, Trey peeked his head around the corner to see what was going on.

'You haven't got time for breakfast now, but make sure you eat something sustainable for lunch,' he heard Haymitch advise, and Trey's heart brightened in relief. He had had bad feelings seeing them together but now it was okay. 'Good luck, you'll be okay,' Haymitch continued, and Trey watched Albany nod anxiously but then reply with, 'What if I'm rubbish though? What if I fall apart?'

Trey's eyes widened in horror as Haymitch took a step closer to her, and put his left hand on her cheek, comforting her slightly, holding her right hand inside his own. 'It doesn't matter. No one makes judgements by the training scores. You're going to be okay.' With that, Haymitch kissed her on the forehead and squeezed her hand before heading off in the other direction, leaving Albany to go to the elevator and meet Mara and himself there.

Trey couldn't believe it! He was absolutely furious! How had Haymitch gotten in there so quickly and why on earth would Albany fall for someone like him? He was a drunk! He was a fool! The only reason he won the Games was because the Gamemakers had been stupid enough not to shoot him down! In a fit of rage, Trey kicked the nearest podium, knocking an expensive vase off the top and causing it to smash loudly, bring Mara and Albany running in.

'Sorry Mara, I accidentally knocked into it,' he burbled quietly, avoiding her eye. Mara simply checked that he was okay, and then told him it was nothing and sent Trey and Albany down to training. He refused to meet the older girl's eye and it pained him to notice that this didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. How could she be so damn oblivious?

That morning, Trey took out all of his anger practising his hand-to-hand combat skills with a trainer who looked less than pleased at being used as a human punch bag. By lunchtime, Trey was literally dripping with sweat but he felt a lot better at having rid himself of some of his anger. At lunch, the nerves began to settle into his stomach, and as he sat down next to Albany, waiting for his session with the Gamemakers, he was finding it very difficult to maintain a level of coldness and superiority over her.

As the hours went on, Trey's blood began to run cold at what the Gamemakers had already seen; all the Careers were bound to have been fantastic, and George, the kid in the wheelchair, was a real whizz with a bow and arrow, even if he couldn't walk properly. Sure, he was strong and all, but he still didn't have a clue what he was actually going to do. His ears muffled over, and he could faintly hear Albany wish him a shaky good luck as he wandered into the main hall.

He could tell why District Twelve always got low scores, even if they were quite good. The Gamemakers had been sat here for near enough six hours, watching teenagers perform, many doing the same kind of thing, and they were all itching to go home. This filled him with rage again - how was it fair for everyone else? They got good chance to show off; his District never did.

Trey walked over to the weight-lifting section in the room, where there were weights all going up to 100 kilograms on either side of the bar. It didn't take him long to get into a stride with showing off how much strength he had, and when he was done, he glanced over at the Gamemakers, who were simply gazing at the food on the table behind them, and whispering to each other their plans for the weekend.

He almost yelled at them, but instead, he went directly to the knife-throwing section and started flinging the blades at the target boards with such venom that they almost went through the wood. Still, this didn't seem to have any noticeable impact on the Gamemakers, and Trey lost the violence and realized he needed to do something memorable. If he got a bad score here, then he would have no sponsors, and everyone at home would just be...disappointed. He couldn't have that on his conscience.

'I wish this kid would hurry up. I'm interested to see this girl, she might be quite entertaining,' he heard one of the men whisper, and Trey glared at him, his emotions heightening once again to a huge level of anger. He was then dismissed by the Gamemakers, who all but begged him to send Albany in - and quickly - but just before he stepped out of the door, Trey had an idea of how to be memorable.

He wasn't sure if this was the best thing he could do, but he was actually quite hurt by some of the things that had happened today. He didn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, but you couldn't expect him to be dismissed by the girl he loved, and dismissed by the people who held his life in their hands and then just take it. Trouble was going to come out of what he was about to say, but this was the type of game where you had to look out for yourself first, and do everything you could so you could be bigger and better.

'Just for future reference, relationships between Mentors and tributes are forbidden, right?' Trey asked simply, and many of the Gamemakers looked confused before one, the man who had made the comment about him and Albany, said, 'No, not they're not. Not recommended, but not forbidden. Why do you ask?'

Trey just shrugged and then said, 'Well that'll be a relief for Haymitch and Albany.' He felt a little spiteful saying that, but before the Gamemakers faces could change to register the shock, he left the room and sent Albany in. Advantage point one goes to Trey Brunwin.

**-HungerGames-**

Watching the revelations of the training scores, Mara, Trey, Haymitch and Albany all sat in front of the widescreen television, for the compulsory viewing. Trey and Mara were sat, each on individual chairs, but Haymitch and Albany were sat together on the sofa, not looking any different if they had been just acquaintances. However, when Trey looked over, he could see that he had a firm grip on her hand, to try and prevent her from shivering. Albany briefly caught Trey's eye and then darted her head away, nervous at anything.

Caesar Flickerman's face appeared on the screen, and the green man (for that was his decided colour this year) introduced the panel of Gamemakers. The scores began to fly across the screen: the Careers were all between ten and twelve, high and impressive, the boy from Seven in the wheelchair scored an eight, the little girl from Eleven received a seven, and most others got between four and six.

'And our last tributes, from District Twelve, are Trey Brunwin and Albany Vogel!' Caesar announced, and the audience inside the arena roared with delight and started clapping and cheering and wolf-whistling, and Trey and Albany could hear their names being chanted more vigorously than the tributes from any of the other Districts. It was quite terrifying, millions of people even just knowing who they were.

The numbers began to appear on the screen. 'So, for Mister Brunwin, the Gamemakers have given him a...nine!' The whole audience clapped wildly, 'That's a very respectable score!' Caesar announced through a microphone, the noise from the arena being too loud for him to compete with without it.

Mara and Haymitch both praised Trey for this great score, Haymitch maybe a little reluctantly, but when Albany's name was introduced, Haymitch smiled at her encouragingly, and whispered, 'It's going to be okay, it doesn't matter.' Trey could tell that Albany wasn't hoping for the best score in the world. He watched her as she stared magnificently at the screen and her deep auburn hair shimmered in the low lights from the nearby lights.

'And for Miss Vogel, it's a...wow, it's a fantastic eleven!' Caesar yelled, and the whole audience went absolutely mental.

Albany stared in shock at the screen and then diverted her attention to Haymitch, and she opened her mouth and then shut it, not knowing what to say.

Training scores of eleven make for easy targets.


	17. Seventeen

_So thanks for all the reviews last chapter! That was, obviously, _sarcasm_. I don't like to ask for reviews, but I do appreciate getting them, and it's nice to know that people are actually reading and enjoying. This chapter is very serious and very pivotal. May be upsetting, I don't know try it._

During dinner that night, both Mara and Haymitch grilled Albany on what she had done in her training session to get such a fantastic score. Haymitch remembered how well he had performed with his knife during his own session four years ago, and he had only received a nine, the same as Trey, who seemed a little outraged by the attention Albany was getting. He watched as Albany slowly spooned chicken soup down her throat, and was shaking so much that she ended up spilling half of it down her chin.

Without even thinking about it, Haymitch picked up his napkin and tenderly wiped the sauce from her chin. She stared at him and then raised her eyebrows, and darted her irises towards the other two sat with them at the table. Haymitch withdrew his hand, and napkin in tow, and blushed awkwardly. Albany loved that - she had never seen him flush red before, and she had never really expected to. Maybe she brought something out in him.

Haymitch refused to look up, but stirred his soup slowly and then muttered, 'So, you guys ready for interview prep tomorrow?' Trey and Albany both looked up, having erased the previous event from their heads (too much to worry about!) and looked totally startled.

'Interview prep?' Trey asked confusedly, and Haymitch smirked at him, unaware of the trouble he had caused earlier. That kid had intentionally dubbed in his Mentor and the girl he loved in order to get himself more brownie points with the Gamemakers. He would never know how loved that had caused him to be. The Gamemakers loved a snitch.

Haymitch caught eyes with Mara, who was still raising her dyed green eyebrows at him in accordance to what he had done earlier, but she smiled back at him, and they both did so to the kids, feeling like more of a partnership in that respect. 'You don't know about that?' Haymitch asked in incredulity as he shovelled a piece of garlic bread down his throat and Mara shivered in disgust at his manners.

Both the tributes shook their heads and Trey continued with asking the questions. 'Why do we need interview preparation? Don't we just answer the questions?' he questioned, and Mara giggled shrilly which prompted everyone to turn and stare at her. She coughed a little falsely to cover up her embarrassment - she hated her laugh even if it was the most common in the Capitol - but then retained her usual stance and coolly replied, 'Of course you answer the questions, but you have to have etiquette and manners which suit your personality. We need to play an angle for each of you - you'll both be boring if you go as yourselves!'

'Charming,' Albany said, feeling a little stunned at the blunt and brashness her escort had displayed. Haymitch snorted into his soup and Mara frowned deeply at him, a few lines gracing her perfectly clear skin.

'Well, you'll have four hours with each of us,' Mara continued, and Albany immediately tensed and stared at Trey, as if to say Four hours with only Mara? Kill me now, and Trey snorted as well, passing it off as a sudden sneezing and coughing fit.

Mara raised her eyebrows, as if to ask permission to continue, and then added, 'Albany, you'll start with me, and Trey, you're starting with Haymitch. So please be up early, and we get going!' The enthusiasm was hard to mistake and this was quite amusing really. 'Come on you two; just two days to go until the arena, and then you'll need all the sponsors - so get ready to make good impressions!'

This was the complete opposite of how Mara had hoped to inspire the tributes. Instead of encouraging them to try hard, it just reminded them that they did only have two days to live their lives as fully as possible in their kind of solitary confinement. They had two days to be free, in the most secluded place in the Capitol, with invisible barriers all around the building so they couldn't escape. It wasn't half a worrying thought.

'I'm going to go and get some air,' Albany stated, pushing her chair back and then tucking it in to the table, and strolling off down the corridor, and going the complete opposite way to her room; making her way towards the roof. It was clear that she wanted to be alone for the time being.

In the next half an hour, when the clock reached eleven o'clock, Mara and Trey both went to bed, and Albany had made no reappearance into the dining room, and so Haymitch sat and thought for a while, finally having some quiet time to himself without being nagged by Mara. To be fair on her, she was being a lot better as an escort this year than she had been for the past four, but he thought that was something to do with the fact that he was actually trying this year, so she decided to as well.

He was half grateful for her support, although he knew how irritating she could be at times. But she had lived in the Capitol her entire life; it wasn't her fault the way she had been brought up. In another life, they could've been good friends. But he would always associate her with the worst years of his life; it wasn't her fault but that's just the way things were. He also hoped she would ditch the yellow lipstick - it was like she had smeared butter all over her face.

He was beginning to like Trey a little more, seeing as the kid had dropped down to earth since he really figured out what he had gotten himself into. Most people saw it as good entertainment, but that was in the richer Districts. Haymitch had no idea where Trey had gotten the idea that the Hunger Games was easy and simple to win; it was far from it. Haymitch still had the scar from where Gabriella had plunged her axe into his stomach. He still heard the screams as well.

But Albany Vogel. Albany. He didn't have a clue what he was going to do about her. He wasn't sure which angle to play; continue with Aaron's version of a Black Swan and be mysterious, or go for the innocent girl act? But the latter would be quite difficult seeing as she had scored an eleven in training - the only one save the boy from District One. She had told him all she had done was shoot a few arrows, and poorly at that, throw a few knives and practise some basic camouflage. In his books, and the Gamemakers (well, normally anyway) that merited a five or below. So where the hell had they gotten an eleven from?

Apart from her tribute issues, he still didn't know what to do about her in terms of the relationship they had going on. He didn't understand what it really was; it wasn't just Mentor and tribute - the kiss had proven that - but he didn't know what it was beyond that. She was ever so slightly crazy, again proven by her behaviour on the roof with Annie Cresta, but she was one of the most beautiful people he had ever met. He was coming closer to loving her with every second that passed.

His skull was pounding worse than ever before, seeing as he had abstained from drink for four days now; four days that had felt longer than the four years since his Games. His face was beginning to have a sunken look about it, and his skin was turning an ever so slightly degrading shade of yellow. He was gagging for a drink, but he was staying away from it because he knew Albany needed his help. Sure, the six other tributes had needed him in the past three years, but none of them had ever had this effect on him.

He glanced at the clock, and saw the time to be approaching twelve, and he decided he probably needed a good night's sleep before tomorrow. Eight hours of work - this was definitely the worst day of the eight he had each year. He stumbled down the corridor, his tiredness blinding him and turning his eyesight a little woozy, and he suddenly understood the effects of alcohol when he wasn't even drinking it.

As he walked past Albany's room to reach his own chambers, Haymitch heard the bath tap running and thought it would probably be best to check up on her. She had been sat on the room for up to two hours, and it had been raining, and so he didn't want her to have caught hyperthermia or anything. Tentatively pushing the door open, Haymitch entered her room, seeing the bed had not yet been slept in, and the bathroom door was wide open.

He didn't want to walk in on her having a shower or anything (that would be more awkward than anything he had ever done in his entire life), but there was something a little wrong about this situation. He could hear the bath tap still running on full power, but he couldn't hear Albany shuffling around or anything. Then, when he took a step closer, standing only a metre from the bathroom, his foot squelched on contact with the carpet.

Squelching? Wasn't that what happened when there was mud or something. Then Haymitch looked down and saw the huge stream of water flowing from the bathroom, straight from the bathroom. This panicked him even further, and upon closer inspection, he knew something was very very wrong here - not just a little bit. He edged closer and closer to the bathroom, but when he finally went through and saw exactly what was going on, Haymitch's body froze and he couldn't even breathe. His whole body stiffened, his lungs ceased to work, and his throat became blocked at the sight.

The whole bath was full to the absolute brim, and was currently spewing water all down the sides in litres and litres of liquid, causing the puddles on his carpet outside. This confused him, from standing a few metres away, but then he saw exactly why the water continued to pour. The tap was completely jammed fully on, and lying, beneath the water at the bottom of the huge bathtub, was Albany Vogel.

'Christ, Albany!' he yelled before running over, almost throwing his whole body into the tub, and scooping her out, her body limp and lifeless. Her eyes were half open, her mouth parted so the water could just flood in, and her whole body was dripping gallons onto the floor and bed sheets when he laid her down.

Haymitch yanked up the sleeve on her shirt, checking her pulse, and finding nothing, he immediately went mental and started yelling Mara's name. Mara came running into the room, and gasped loudly before fainting to the floor. 'Great, Mara thanks for that!' Haymitch sighed, moaning before turning back to Albany.

Her cheeks were deathly white, her lips blue, and her skin tinged the same colour. He couldn't tell how long she had been under the water for. He knew she didn't want to go inside the arena, but he hadn't even contemplated the thought that she might try and commit suicide. Jesus, he should've been with her, he should've been protecting her! That was his job! The thought then suddenly occurred to him - he couldn't lose another one. Noe was gone, and he couldn't let Albany do the same.

Haymitch ran to the cupboard in the corner and pulled out around ten bed sheets, all toasty and warm from the boiler inside. He spread each of them evenly across her body, trying to warm her up slightly. The colour began to return to her cheeks, but she still wasn't breathing. Everything was in frenzy/panic mode. He didn't have the faintest clue what to do - Mara was the one with all the first aid training.

Deciding to go on what he had seen some of the kids at school practising (well, the ones who took the extra classes for wanting to become nurses or doctors), Haymitch wrenched away the covers, placed his right hand on top of his left, and attempted to restart her heart. He didn't know what to do at the beginning, but in the end, he found the rhythm and after about two minutes, he was about to give up when he felt her pulse again, and found the faintest trace of life; a thready, and extremely weak heartbeat.

He almost cried, and he knew that she was definitely alive, but she still wasn't breathing. He had no clue what to do about that. 'Come on Albany, you've got to breathe. Come on, please,' he begged loudly, his desperation shining through. He wasn't going to lose her - he couldn't lose her. No, this wasn't and couldn't happen. 'Albany, please,' he whispered softly, kneeling down by her bedside and clutching her frozen hand, chucking the quilts back over her, raising her body temperature.

Mara groaned loudly from behind, and then quickly stood up, wobbling a little, hurrying over to Haymitch and rambling on about what to do. 'You've got to get all the water out of her lungs,' she said urgently, her natural survival instincts kicking in and rendering her helpful for the first time, 'She needs to cough it all up. You need mouth to mouth resuscitation.' Haymitch sent her look telling her that was completely unhelpful, before Mara almost yelled, 'Hold her nose and kiss her for Panem's sake!'

Haymitch immediately closed up her nose with his thumb and forefinger, and placed his lips to hers. Mara started yelling immediately, telling him he needed to breath into her mouth rather than just snog her, and so he did this, not having a clue what he was doing. When he was completely out of oxygen, Haymitch drew away, expecting her to sit up and breathe, but there was absolutely nothing, not even the beautiful flutter of her eyelids when she woke up in the morning.

'Albany, come on,' he breathed into her ear, making sure Mara couldn't hear him. Her pulse was beginning to fade away, the lack of oxygen inside her respiratory system killing her. She was seconds away from dead. 'I love you,' he murmured into her ear, before brushing the sopping wet strands of hair from her forehead and kissing her once more.

When he drew away, nothing happened again. Mara lost her pulse. He couldn't take it anymore. The Capitol had destroyed everyone he loved - how did they even find out about Albany and him? They couldn't have; only if Trey or Mara had seen them. It wouldn't have been Mara - she had too much of a good heart - so that left the boy. He was going to kill him tomorrow. Better to have no tributes at all rather than just the one.

Wiping away the tears that fell down his cheeks, Haymitch collapsed next to the side of the bed and Mara tried to comfort him, and for once, he let her. That was until, he heard her coughing. His eyes were covered by his hands, encasing him in darkness, so he had only the presumption it was his co-worker. 'Mara, stop it,' he moaned as it continued, and he heard her reply, 'That's not me Haymitch.'

He leapt to his feet and turned around, and saw Albany, sat up straight, coughing up the water from inside her body. He almost jumped on her and started hugging her, but instead, he sat down next to her, and patted her on the back, helping her along. After the water, she weakly jumped off the bed and tottered to the bathroom, and threw up most of her insides. He waited for her to come back in, before he ran over and embraced her soaking wet body.

'You stupid, stupid girl,' he muttered, supporting the back of her head, holding her tightly to him, wetting his own clothes almost as badly as her own were. She didn't say anything, but clung tightly to him, not saying anything. After a _I hope you're alright_ from Mara, she evacuated the room, hoping to leave both of them alone.

Haymitch gently lifted her light body into his arms and then laid her on the bed, on top of all the covers. He still knew not what to do, but she seemed to be shivering, so he took off her jumper, leaving her in a vest-top and leggings, peeled off her shoes and socks, and dressed her in warm fluffy pyjamas and then wrapped her up in the ten blankets. 'Albany, what the hell were you doing?' he asked softly, and she just looked at him sadly. He sunk into the chair next to her bed and leant back, resting his face in his hands, and she looked a little lonely, her hair still soaking through the white pillow cases.

Before she went off to sleep, she whispered, 'I wish you had just let me die.'


	18. Eighteen

After last night's events, Albany was excused from interview preparation with Mara and Haymitch (although she would still have to have her interview), being allowed the golden opportunity to stay in bed all day and just recover from what had happened. No matter how much better she looked though, Haymitch kept replaying those words in his head. I wish you had just let me die. She really had been trying to end everything so she didn't have to go inside the arena; he had despised the Capitol before, now every person he saw who even came close to enjoying the Games he thought deserved to have their necks snapped.

He was sorely tempted to stay in with her all day, to make sure she didn't try anything else, but Mara insisted that he assist Trey with his preparations. In Mara's words, Albany is fine now and Trey needs your help more than she does. What a load of utter rubbish. Even after all the drama, Haymitch had not forgotten his theory on how the Gamemakers had known about them. That was the reason Albany had received an eleven - so the other tributes, sensing how "dangerous" she was, would immediately target her and, the Gamemakers knowing how useless she was, would have fun watching her get killed.

It was all to hurt him. Somehow, the root of every problem surrounding the people he loved seemed to lead directly back to him and his punishment from the Capitol. He wishes, now more than ever, that Gabriella had just thrown her axe through his temple and killed him straight away. Then his mother, his brother, Noe, those one hundred miners and countless others would still be alive. Albany wouldn't have tried to kill herself. Really, what was one life compared to one hundred and five? He was nothing special - just a drunkard who damaged everything who came to know him.

He kissed Albany on the temple and whispered, 'I'll come back later,' before leaving her in the hands of a very capable Avox who had personally looked after him in his Games. Haymitch smiled, and the young girl, who had had her tongue cut out at just fourteen years old, smiled back, and nodded her head. That meant she would look after her. He made her promise.

Breakfast was a terrible affair, where Haymitch terrified Trey to the bone with all the death glares he sent him. Mara was awfully silent, and was still a little shaken about last night, and had informed Trey of what had happened to Albany. Trey looked shocked at this, and before he could hide it, Haymitch saw a glimmer of guilt cross his expression. That just stamped Haymitch's theory into fact.

Due to Albany's absence, Trey took his first session with Mara instead of Haymitch, giving him plenty of time to contemplate how he was going to deal with the boy. He briefly went back to see Albany, but she was fast asleep, curled up into a little ball under the blankets.

'It wasn't your fault, you know,' he murmured, brushing her now dry hair behind her ear. 'You're going to be okay Albany. I promise you that you're going to be okay. Forget what Mara and I said about you not having a chance - I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of there alive. I can't help Trey anymore, so it's just me and you. We're going to be okay, I promise. I love you. Remember that.'

**-HungerGames-**

Trey looked more worse for wear than Albany when he walked into the room he was going to be tutored by Haymitch in, just after lunch had been served at two o'clock. The interviews were being held from eight onwards, with District Twelve going last as per usual, and so that gave Aaron and the team - Fugio, Pupa and Zel - two hours to get the tributes into their outfits. Haymitch and Aaron had briefly had the conversation over lunch about what styles he wanted him to go for, and the decisions had been made. Haymitch wasn't best pleased on the fact Albany was being forced to have her interview - she was totally cracked open. She had tried to commit suicide - she hadn't just tripped over and cut her knee!

Haymitch was already sat down, and with a curt nod of his head, he inclined Trey to sit down. Trey nervously lowered his body into the chair, which was obviously a lot shorter than Haymitch, giving him the impression of being so much smaller than him. It was quite intimidating if he had to say so himself.

'So, what angle do you think you should play? I want your opinion on this first of all,' Haymitch said shortly, holding his hands together in front of his face, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. Trey darted his eyes around the room, and saw all the windows to be shut, and the door to be closed behind him. He was completely trapped inside this room, and judging by the look on Haymitch's face, Trey believed he had a pretty good idea of why Albany had scored an eleven. He better be careful about what he said.

'Urm, I don't really know. Maybe, urm...I really don't know,' Trey muttered, keeping his head low and avoiding eye contact. 'How about strong and powerful, or intelligent?' Haymitch asked reasonably, 'What about a snitching little boy who told on his Mentor and fellow tribute and made her try to kill herself?'

Okay, so, he deserved that. 'I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. I didn't realize that the Gamemakers would react to it like that!' Trey exclaimed, trying to defend himself so that Haymitch wouldn't go absolutely berserk on him. Well, it was a little late for that now.

'How did you think they would react? Did you think they would just ignore it?' Haymitch yelled, standing up from his chair, 'Or did you just want to win that badly that you would do anything to give yourself a better chance?'

'Of course I want to win, I've got family at home who need the money and everything!' Trey argued back, standing up as well, 'Doesn't everybody want to win? It's the Hunger Games - you save your own skin before anyone else. Just because you think you love her, it doesn't mean you can just ignore me as well!'

'Just because I think I love her? And anyway, that's got nothing to do with it!' Haymitch yelled, although he could feel his cheeks burning up from his lies. Of course it was because he loved her! 'I do love her but...'

'Well, you're not the only one!' Trey roared, and that put an end to it.

Haymitch sunk back into his chair, and looked at Trey in surprise, like he had just announced that he had bribed the Capitol into making him win. He stared in a state of complete bewilderment, a grimace crossing his lips. 'You...love her?' he asked, unsure of whether he had gotten the complete wrong end of the stick. He was praying to every single God he had read about in the history books that he had completely misunderstood.

Trey just nodded, and Haymitch slapped his hand to his forehead. Both men seemed at a loss of what to say. 'I'm sorry,' Trey muttered and Haymitch looked up at him, raising his eyebrows, like he could barely believe that was all he could say.

'Just, get out of my sight,' Haymitch muttered, and Trey did not protest, but almost ran from the room. He didn't care about his interview preparation - he would get to that issue tomorrow morning. That wasn't exactly how he had planned it to go, but he could fix that himself before going into the arena - he just needed those sponsors.

Haymitch waited around five minutes, still completely paralyzed and stunned by what he had just learned. Albany had shown no recognition whatsoever of the boy, and all this time he had acted totally indifferent to her, like she was just a nobody. As much as he hated to admit to it, Haymitch completely understood why Trey had done what he had - if it would've helped him win, or given him better chances, he would've dubbed anyone in, regardless of the relationship between them.

Ten minutes passed before Haymitch realized he now had three and a half hours of free time in which to do anything he liked. He would probably end up being given a huge lecture by Mara about "not giving his tributes fair opportunities to do well" but that didn't matter. What was really playing on his mind right now was what had happened last night. The fear that had overcome him when he had seen her body, drained of life beneath the water. Noe died in fire; Albany died in water, complete opposites and yet exactly the same.

She had died, but then he had managed to bring her back to life. He despised the fact, but now he was going to be eternally grateful towards Mara for her expertise. Without the yellow-lipped, green-eye browed crazy woman, Albany would have remained dead. It was a horrifying thought, though, that she was going to have to do her interview. Any rational person would be able to see that she was in not fit state to do anything of the sort, but these Capitol "folk" were insane. As long as she was breathing, she had to do whatever they wanted.

Exhausted by everything that had occurred, Haymitch went to his room, over to the telephone and ordered a bottle of whiskey from the Room Service. When it arrived, he considered for a moment. He shouldn't. But then again, he wanted to, and who exactly was going to stop him? He drank and drank and drank, like he had just a week ago, until he had no recollection of where he was or why he was drinking.

It felt good.

He went to bed that night, whiskey in his veins, and the screaming returned, alongside his own at seeing their bodies engulfed in flames and water.

**-HungerGames-**

Albany spent the whole day asleep, tossing and turning around in her thick sheets, and spent the whole night doing the exact same thing. She didn't want to compete in the Games, she didn't want to kill people she had spoken to and spent time with; God knows she didn't even want to be broadcast all over Panem, being as camera shy as she was. But what she had come to accept over the past twenty four hours, or so, was that she didn't have a choice in the matter. So long as she was breathing, it didn't matter what state she was in. She had tried to stop that last night, but he had to go and save her didn't he?

In the brief moments that she had been awake yesterday, Albany tried to think about exactly why Haymitch had chosen to rescue her. Surely, as a former tribute, he must know that she would do anything to stop herself from going inside the arena. It might have been selfish of her, but she didn't care at the moment. If she was going to die, she may as well do it on her own terms and conditions rather than those of the Capitol. The only thing that had almost prevented her from climbing into that bath tub was the thought of what she was doing to Haymitch.

He had told her his story, the events that had caused him to turn to alcohol as a pain relief, and she didn't want to be the reason for him returning to it, because she couldn't do that to him. Not when she loved him like she did. She didn't want to be parted from him, but the inevitable was always going to happen, and so she believed he would prefer it if he didn't have to watch her being slaughtered by one of the Careers, or by some devious device created by the Gamemakers to make the Games all that more interesting. She didn't think for one minute that he was going to find her, and especially when she had been dead for a few seconds already.

That made her even more terrified of going into the arena, because she had died, if only for a few seconds before Haymitch revived her, and there had been nothing. Some of the old religions had remained, even after the nuclear war which had destroyed the majority of the planet, and Albany had found herself being particularly interested in the afterlife. In history classes, they had one copy of this story book which was called the Bible, which had many tales of life after death, and she had begun to believe that maybe she might well go there if she believed enough. But when she had died, there had been nothing. A deep cavern of darkness where none but the dead could exist.

She had been awakened that morning by Fugio, Pupa and Zel, who all insisted that she came with them to be made up for the interviews that started in about five hours' time. Her first initial reaction was horror that she would have to participate in the interviews in her current state, but then anger overruled when the stylists began to discuss her actions and the implications they had had on her appearance.

'Goodness Albany, you could've given us something better to work on this time around,' Fugio exclaimed when they first wheeled her into the studios, 'Look at those dark circles under your eyes, and can you see the state of your complexion - you look positively wretched!' Albany ignored him the best she could, and accepted Zel's criticism of her clothing, but, surprisingly, Pupa didn't say anything to her. She remained silent as she plucked and washed and styled, and Albany was grateful for this. It wasn't until later that she understood exactly why she was so quiet.

'Stop pouting will you Albany,' Zel, the little doll, complained whilst she tried to apply lipstick to her recently moisturised mouth. Albany glared furiously at her, but Zel let this go and continued to speak. 'You look exactly like poor Pupa did after she tried to do herself in a while back!'

Pupa's hands immediately shook and she dropped the comb she had been brushing through Albany's lavish auburn hair onto the floor, where the clattering seemed to grow louder as it ricocheted around the metal walls, and Pupa dismissed herself by running from the room. Fugio took over taking care of Albany's hair, and he exchanged only the smallest of glances with Zel before continuing the styling. Even after missing yesterday's interview prep, the stylists seemed to have been given what impression she was trying to make. It seemed to be kindness. She was to be portrayed as simply kind. It wouldn't make her memorable, but she had the eleven in training for that.

When Aaron got hold of her later on in the day, he dressed her in a beautiful blue dress, the same cornflower blue as her Reaping day dress, which reached her ankles and then flowed out over her toes. It had long sleeves that clung tightly to her arms, but the rest flowed out across her body, held in tightly around her slim waist. The material was one she did not recognize, but it was soft and had a shiny tint to it whenever she moved. It was her favourite dress, the most beautiful she had ever cast eyes upon, and even more beautiful than the stunning black outfit she had worn for the opening ceremony. That dress had been stunning, but this was simply pretty.

It gave her a little bit more confidence as the time approached for her interview. Sure, her nerve was weak and slack (as was her stomach, she realized, as she kept throwing up in the loos), and she was still cold and clammy from two days ago, but she thought she could do this, and she might just be able to pull it off. Forty minutes before all the tributes were due on stage though, Albany's nerves began to shine through again. She had to go and speak to Flickerman, not bad himself, but a member of the society which had caused her to try and kill herself. She was still coming to terms with it - she couldn't just sit in a crowd of hundreds of Capitol folk and be normal.

Pupa had returned sometime before and was standing in the doorway of the stylist room when Aaron had finished dressing her. She, again, did not say a word, but she stood there and stared and then finally said, 'I understand why you did it.' There was empathy in her words, reasoning and understanding, and what she said helped more than any that anyone else had said. 'You'll be okay,' Pupa mumbled before vacating the room, just as Albany was about to thank her. But Pupa didn't want her pity, and she hadn't given any to Albany. There had to be some sort of friendship there.

Thirty minutes before the interviews began, Albany went missing when Fugio came to retouch her hair and make-up. The whole floor of apartments were in chaos as they all searched for the girl, but it was not until she came crying from her bathroom that they realized how awful everything had gotten. A huge argument erupted between Aaron and Mara; Mara arguing that as long as Albany was alive, then she was obligated to attend the interviews, but Aaron was yelling something along the lines of her being too fragile to do this. As much as she hated being called "fragile", she agreed with Aaron.

But there was one thing missing in the twenty minutes before Albany's presence was required - that of her Mentor. Usually, it was Haymitch's obligation and duty to argue with Mara on Albany's behalf, but he was nowhere to be seen. Once Aaron was dismissed by a very angered Mara, Haymitch was sent for to accompany Albany before the interviews. Mara may have been one of the Capitol's tools, but she knew that Albany and Haymitch had something going on, and that he would be a good piece to play in order to get Albany to loosen up a little.

He was found, drunk, in his room. Mara was so enraged at him that she did not allow Albany to even see him in this state, and spent the last fifteen minutes of her free time before the interviews preventing Albany from seeing him in this way. She didn't want her to be discouraged by Haymitch being drunk, especially after he had promised he wouldn't drink during the preparation for her Games. But Mara should've known that Albany would discover the truth.

Just five minutes before she was due on stage, the time in which she should've been travelling to the stage, Albany slipped from the company of Trey and Mara to Haymitch's room. She had to see him, if only to get a good luck and a hug from him, if nothing more occurred then that would be of no consequence to her. She travelled quickly, knowing she would be missed, but when she reached Haymitch's room and burst in, knowing he wouldn't mind, Albany was horrified by what she saw. He was just sat on the edge of his bed, a bottle of strong brandy in his hand, looking rather out of it. Upon seeing Albany in his doorway, he saw fit to try and stand and explain himself, but she glared at him and ran away from his room to her interview.

The waiting was the worst part. As the girl from District Twelve, she was required to go last, like in her training session with the Gamemakers. The image of Haymitch drunk again even though he promised he wouldn't was like a stab in the heart for her. Hearing the other interviewees was not helpful at all, for they were all beautiful and confident and...special, in some way. What was she? Kind. That's all she was; kind. Kind and pretty and silly and suicidal. Just a knock-off little girl. She despised herself in that moment, all she had become since she was a child. She wanted her mother.

As she waited for Flickerman to call her name, since the little girl from Eleven was currently being interviewed, the words of her mother's song re-bounded back inside her head.

_Sleep softly my dear,_

_The danger is gone,_

_I will not leave,_

_Not you, my loved one._

_Dream some sweet dreams,_

_For you are safe here,_

_In my arms you lay,_

_Sleep softly my dear._

She heard her mother gently singing the words, like she used to when Albany was just a toddler. And then, like magic, she felt better. Just in time for her interview.

'And our last tribute of today, Miss Albany Vogel from District Twelve!' Flickerman shouted into his microphone, and as she strode, trying to keep confident, onto the stage, and blushed as she is greeted the cheers and applause that emanates from the audience. It is clear that the audience has been anticipating her arrival since the beginning, just so they can find out what prompted the magnificent training score.

Albany made herself comfortable on the sofa, but sat politely and tried her best to keep calm. She remembers Haymitch's words from days ago: she can't fight - she's too nice to kill anyone. As much as she had been offended by that at the beginning, it kept her in character right now. Because she hadn't had any training, she was making this up on the spot and she needed to stay in the boundaries that had been set by her outfit. She took a deep breath and relaxed herself, before spotting Haymitch in the audience. He looked more sober than he did five minutes ago (if that was possible), but instead of mouthing I'm sorry or anything, he remained tight-lipped, and nodded his head. She was going to be fine.

She plastered a smile across her face, and the questions began.

She answered as humbly as was possible, remained kind about everyone, even the Capitol, and all the while she told herself that she could do this. She was perfectly fine, until halfway through her time Caesar mentioned the Anne Cresta, who they had _somehow_ found out about. At that point, she almost cracked, but she caught sight of Haymitch, and again, he just nodded at her. There was something like wisdom in that nod, it was strange. She answered Flickerman's enquiries, and the audience remained silent through her story of how difficult it had been to let the little girl, like her sister, go and how difficult it had been to watch her going crazy.

At the end of her interview, when there was only thirty seconds left, Caesar asked her, 'And so Albany, what is Haymitch Abernathy like as a mentor? He must be pretty good to have been able to help you get that eleven!' The cameras found Haymitch in the audience and he raised a hand good-naturedly, but then directed them back to Albany, interested too to hear what she had to say.

'Haymitch takes work,' she began slowly, and the audience guffawed and Haymitch raised his eyebrows in humour. Albany let slip a smile and continued, 'But when you get to know him, you know you've met someone special. He's different to the others in the fact he will stand up for what he believes in, and if he doesn't like something, then he'll do something about it. He's been there for me, when I needed him and when I didn't, and even though we've known each other eight days, it feels like we've had forever.'

The audience had fallen silent again during this, and when she was finished speaking, Albany could hear the small sound of Panem crying into their tissues, whispering to each other and smiling in happiness. Albany found Haymitch again, and he smiled at her, and she saw something that looked strangely like tears nestling in his eyes. She grinned at him, and then turned back to Flickerman who looked absolutely astonished at her explanation. The buzzer went off and Albany said her goodbyes and Flickerman wished her good luck inside the arena, and she walked off stage amidst almost-silence, feeling pretty damn proud of how that had gone.


	19. Nineteen

After dinner, and the successes of the interviews had been duly noted, Albany went straight to bed, and half an hour later Haymitch joined her. She was fast asleep, but she looked anxious at the thought of tomorrow. The first day at the Cornucopia was always the worst – so many died. He perched on the edge of her bed, and watched her as she slept; watching her breathing, praying that tomorrow would not be the end of it. In the end, he lied down beside her, and ended up waking her up. He apologized profusely for this, but she told him she didn't mind and she smiled up at him, her disappointment at his moment of weakness abated.

Neither of them slept a wink that night, although they did not converse with one another either, choosing to remain oblivious to the fear radiating directly from one another. Albany's was stemming from the idea of going into the arena, with the meagre talents she possessed with her hunting skills, but Haymitch's ran so much deeper. He was so scared he was going to lose her, and she would become just another statistic in the history of Panem; her name would be forgotten, her face would be just another unrecognizable one in a swarm of the dead. He was terrified that she would be added to the list of people he loved that had been murdered by the Capitol.

Neither of them ate at breakfast, although he spent half an hour trying to coax food into her, only to see her running to the nearest bathroom and emptying her stomach of everything she had eaten over the past few days. This wasn't what either of them needed right now; she needed all the nutrients and food she could possibly store because neither knew what was going to be inside the arena – there might not be any food at all and it would just be a matter of running from the enemy or waiting for days until she dropped dead from starvation. Not very fun for anyone. Haymitch didn't particularly worry about Trey – he didn't need anyone looking after him, he was a strong lad and he seemed to know what he was doing. Plus, Haymitch didn't like him either; not after what he had done to Albany.

He had a brief argument with Mara (what else had been expected between the two) that went something like this:

_'You can't expect her to go into the arena like this! She's still weak!'_

_'Sorry Haymitch - unless she's actually dead, she doesn't have a choice.'_

_'Well, I'll volunteer for her.'_

_'You know you can't do that.' _

It was then that Haymitch realized what Albany had meant by wishing she had just been allowed to die. But he wasn't going to discourage her now. He let the matter rest – it was too late for anything to be done.

When she actually got dressed up in the clothes Aaron had made up for her, Haymitch waited outside her chambers because he was pretty sure she wouldn't make it down to the platforms by herself. Tributes were expected to take a member of the District's "team" with them, and seeing as Mara couldn't stop crying to even wish Albany and Trey good luck in the Games, Albany had begged Haymitch to take her. He was going to go with her anyway, just let anyone try to stop him.

She emerged from her chambers, wearing a khaki green shirt which had been designed to automatically blend into any background (Aaron had spent two months studying chameleons for this), simple black leggings and comfortable light brown leather boots. Her token from District Twelve was nowhere to be seen, and with some discomfort, Haymitch realized she didn't even have one. He quickly plucked her one of the undying white roses from a vase nearby and braided it into her long plait.

She smiled briefly at him, but then lowered her head to the ground. 'Come on,' he whispered, stretching out his hand but stopping just before reaching hers. He tilted her chin up and raised his eyebrows, and she breathed out heavily in nervousness and quickly grasped his hand, squeezing it intently, and they entered the crystal elevator, pressed the button for the District Twelve arena platforms and suddenly went hurtling off to the right.

Although it was sleek and perfect, the elevator seemed less slick today, more rickety and bumpy, but that might just be out of anticipation. The journey seemed to last longer than a millennium, and it was a horrible feeling just waiting to arrive at this specific destination. He had his plan to say goodbye, and as soon as she was out of sight, to run to the stadium as fast as possible, as if he had that girl from District One, the one with the axe, hunting him, and watch her enter the Cornucopia.

They finally arrived in the suave white room where there was just a small circular panel in the middle of it. The walls were far enough apart to show some sort of mediocre size of a room, and every wall was panelled with thin white tiles, all magnificently unblemished and the horrific opposite of what was to come inside the arena. Haymitch could see these tiles, splattered with the blood of a hundred tributes as they staggered away from the person trying to kill them, trying not to slump from the ground and succumb to death. He clenched his eyes shut and wiped away the crimson red liquid from his mind, reassuring himself that she was going to be okay.

They both stepped tentatively from the lift, which then immediately shot off into the distance, revealing a small staircase. They could run now, if they wanted, they could run from the Games. But they would be caught, obviously, and the Capitol and the Peacekeepers would shoot them on the spot, even if he was Victor and a mentor, and she was tribute. Because that's what they were like; a twenty year old boy, and an eighteen year old girl, trying to get away from intentional murder would be killed for it, for their "defiance".

'Just remember everything I told you,' Haymitch said clearly as he quickly spot-checked the room for any hidden cameras. He remembered a time a few years ago when a goodbye from a stylist and a tribute had been broadcast across the whole of Panem, showing the two to be so obviously in love. The tribute that year died at the Cornucopia, the first kill. That's what the Capitol were like, murdering someone just to make another hurt.

Albany looked up at him, the strand of ferocious red hair she had been picking at falling by her cheek, and he brushed it behind her ear, stepping closer to her when he detected no hidden software that could be recording this parting. She nodded at what he said, and managed to let out a watery laugh and replied, 'You've told me a lot. If I could remember everything I think my head would explode.'

But this wasn't the time for jokes, and she instantly realized this when Haymitch's face tensed and he grabbed her wrists intently, holding them up to his chest. 'Albany, you need to be serious. Everything I told you, make sure you do everything I said. Stay away from the Cornucopia, and don't make allies,' he instructed like a robot, repeating information like it had been said a billion times before. Albany answered to show that she understood, and Haymitch placed one hand on either of her whitening cheeks and resting his forehead against hers.

'You need to promise me something,' he muttered calmly, trying not to let his anxiety attack at his mask, and she immediately responded with something along the lines of anything, I swear Haymitch. He looked her deep in the eyes, his dark Seam greys contrasting against her upper-class mahogany browns, and whispered, for the first time not being sarcastic about it, the words, 'Stay alive.'

With those two words, he told her everything he felt for her. He told her if she did so, they could get away together, get married, they could have a family and children and a dog. They could run away in the wilderness and live together for the rest of their days until they both passed. He assured her they could escape the Capitol and its unending bloodshed and injustice. They could be incredible together, Haymitch and Albany, the two surviving District Twelve Victors.

'I promise I will,' she breathed back, their lips so close no louder sound was necessary. They both ignored the loudspeaker which beckoned through all the chambers, yelling, in that irritating Capitol accent, _Will all tributes please step onto their platform within the next thirty seconds_, not needing a reminder that they were about to be torn apart.

It was funny, almost ironic, how Albany, being the very type of person Haymitch usually despised (crying at the reaping, etc.) had managed to fall in love with such an angry man, and how he had done the same in such a short time. In total, they had had eight meagre days together, and yet he felt more comfortable with her than any other human being. He felt more deeply for her than he had at any point for Noe – which made him feel a little wretched, seeing as her blood was forever on his hands – but it was typical Fate that she had been picked as tribute for the Hunger Games. It was never simple, was it?

'I love you ginge,' he said, a smile at his nickname for her all over his lips, and she smirked a little before relying with, 'I love you too Haymitch.' She giggled and they joined hands once more again before that God-awful Capitol accent came blasting through once again, yelling the words _Will all tributes please stand on their platforms in the next ten seconds_.

Ten seconds; no way near long enough for a proper goodbye. Without even thinking about it, Haymitch quickly pulled Albany forward by the waist and kissed her intently, wrapping both hands around her waist, refusing to believe this would be for the last time. She kissed him back with every ounce of energy she had, knowing this was a more important cause than the games, placing both her hands on his shoulders.

'Don't forget me Haymitch Abernathy,' she mumbled as she drew away and stepped onto the platform, and he just shook his head and let of her hands before the glass tube smacked down and trapped her, and he saw the panic blazing on her face.

'Albany, calm down. Remember, Cornucopia - stay away from it!' he mouthed and she nodded hysterically, tears beginning to pour down her translucent cheeks as she was raised upwards. Before she was out of sight, she yelled _I love you_, through the glass, pounding her fists on it, trying to escape, and she would've slumped down to her knees and wept if she had had the room to. His heart broke, and as soon as she was out of sight, raised into the arena, he sprinted up the stairs.

The whole of Panem was in shock; Caesar Flickerman was delighted, but for the complete wrong reasons. Footage of a mentor and a tribute, broadcast over every district. Oh, this year's Hunger Games were going to be absolutely _fantastic_. What treats could they have in store for the man who couldn't see a camera embedded in the tiles, and a girl who could not help but cry?

Haymitch just reached the Capitol's private arena, where the rich, powerful, or those actually involved in the Games (Flickerman, and then mentors and Victors and stylists and escorts) had prime seats for however long the Games continued for, when Albany was standing on her platform, waiting for the sixty seconds to pass. But it was the audience watching whose expressions were the most incredible, with eyebrows raised so high that even the wrinkle reducing surgery failed and disbelief lines were written all over their foreheads. Haymitch studied the arena intently – he had never seen anything like this ever before.

The tributes, for once, were all facing out of the Cornucopia. This year, it was like a huge, steep mountain-face, made of slippery mud, which looked almost impossible to climb, with all the important weapons and such like at the top, and the bits of plastic and rope nearing the bottom. But the Cornucopia was nothing to look at in comparison to the rest of the arena.

Surrounding the twenty-four platforms were twelve large pathways, but not large enough for both tributes to travel through. All the pathways, from the tributes point of view, just looked dark and shaded with a large marble arch surrounding the gap, but beyond that their vision was obscured. From where the cameras were meticulously placed above, the audience could see the entire arena.

A maze – a _giant _maze, stretching across the entire arena, apart from a tiny space at the very edge where there was just a small amount of sand sweeping across the path. But this maze; the hedges were at least fifteen foot high and only five foot wide, and the sharp twists and turns looked almost deadly, even though they were only concealing leaves.

There were no trees or caves or rivers or lakes or anywhere to hide, there was just the maze. From what Haymitch could see, there was no source of food either. How on Panem were any of these kids supposed to survive longer than a week in here? Or did they anticipate that the Careers were just so strong this year that it would be over in less than a few days? No, that wouldn't be any fun whatsoever. There had to be something.

The sixty seconds that had to pass felt like an eternity to Albany. She carefully turned around to look at the Cornucopia, finding that many of the other tributes had done the same, and saw a small knife with serrated edges right next to her feet and a backpack a few feet forwards. Could she risk it? Would she?

Ten.

_I don't know what to do!_

Nine.

_Should I go for the backpack and the knife?_

Eight.

_Or just the knife?_

Seven.

_Oh I don't know what to do._

Six.

_Haymitch, help me._

Five.

_Oh, God, help me, someone!_

Four.

_What even is this place?_

Three.

_The guy next looks slow. Oh, he's the one in the wheelchair? _

Two.

_They didn't let him keep his wheelchair? How cruel._

One.

_Just go Albany, fly. _

…

_Ladies and gentlemen, let the 54th Hunger Games begin!_


	20. Their Games: Twenty

_For beautifulnightmare11, because you're one of the loveliest reviewers I have :) quite violent this chapter, best to avoid if you're a little squeamish._

The siren blared magnificently, and Albany leapt off her platform, grabbed the tiny serrated knife and tucked it into her pocket and stopped, wondering what to do next. She didn't have an action plan; she didn't have a _clue_ what she needed to do. Haymitch told her to stay away from the Cornucopia, but there was so much stuff that she needed to get. The backpack was only a few metres in front of her – surely it wouldn't hurt to try? She looked around, but her vision was blurred by fear and sheer terror and all she could hear was the distinct _**BOOM**_ of the cannons as another child's life was taken.

Suddenly, she felt immense pain in her back in between the blades of her shoulders. She turned around to see the female tribute from District Seven in action poise, having just launched something at her. Luckily, it had missed her head, but Albany still tumbled to the ground in pain, and heard the girl drawing a sword from its sheath. This was unusual – normally the Careers were the ones who attacked the helpless in the bloodbath. She looked from her current position, and saw that only the girl from Seven, and the Careers – scrambling to the top of the Cornucopia – were left. That and around eight dead bodies.

And that's when Albany saw what had hit her in the back. She screamed piercingly. The severed head of the District Eleven girl, the sister of the boy twin she had shared a conversation with during training, was lolling on the ground next to her, on top of a pool of blood pouring seamlessly from the neck. Albany shrieked and cried out and scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth open in horror and she shook violently, her disgust washing over her.

The tears mingled with the blood from the recent cut where she had smacked her head when she fell, but she pulled the knife out, her hands gripping it like her life depended on it – _like_? It did. She could hear the girl from Seven treading closer towards her and Albany turned around just as she raised the machete above her head. Albany immediately kicked her in the shins, sending the girl down to the floor, but as she tried to run, the girl (who she now recognized as "Lorna Redway" from the Reaping) grabbed her foot and sent Albany hurtling down, where she smacked her chin.

The Careers had disappeared now, ignoring the fight on the other side of the Cornucopia, choosing to hunt the weaker tributes who had only just escaped.

Lorna grabbed hold of Albany's ankle with her bloody hands, and sent her down to the ground where she smashed her face into the ground. The savage beast of a girl started dragging her back against the rough ground, making sure that the mud and dirt and gravel went into Albany's mouth, her and up nose and into her cuts, widening them. Albany choked loudly, trying to cough up the dirt that she had inhaled and swallowed, but managed to kick the blonde in the head and give her a dazed look for a second. That's when Lorna let out a cry like a Banshee and jumped right onto Albany with her machete, and tried to slit her throat. But the sword was too big and Albany head-butted her – hard – and tried to escape. But District Seven had been training well this year – Lorna was too powerful.

Pinned down, Albany's heart was going at a thousand beats per minute, and her senses were out of the window. She struggled against Lorna and raised the knife from by her side and managed to cut her lithely across the face, but she couldn't bear to cut her any deeper, and managed a small scratch.

'That. Hurt.' Lorna grunted viciously, and being in a position above Albany, she lifted up the older girl's head and smacked it violently against the ground. Albany's nose began to bleed, but she persisted. She kicked the machete from Lorna's hand, cracking it out of place in the meantime, and wielded her knife again. She kicked Lorna again, trying to get her off of her, but the girl was too heavy for her, even though she was only fifteen. She was vicious. But so was Albany. With a final heave of effort, smearing blood all over her sleeve from her nose, Albany sliced through Lorna's shirt and across her stomach, and the blonde immediately shivered in pain and crawled away.

Albany leapt to her feet, knife in tow, and waited for Lorna to get back on her feet. Right now, she couldn't think. She couldn't even breathe. She could feel blood pouring thickly down her throat, choking her marvellously, and she felt faint and dizzy. Her head was spinning and curling and she felt like she had been stung by a tracker jacker.

Lorna was climbing to her knees, looking weary and defeated, but when Albany began to lower the knife, she took an enormous breath in and, with a heartfelt wince, jumped to her feet and towards the ginger girl. In a split-second reaction, Albany brought the knife back up in defence, and watched in a wretched kind of despair as Lorna failed to stop in time and impaled herself upon the blade. Albany released the knife instantly, taking a step back as if to clear her guilt away, and let out another cry of fear and watched as Lorna's eyes opened in shock and she fell backwards to the ground, the ginger girl's knife imbedded deep in her stomach. In another other situation, it wouldn't have been enough to kill her, but her other injuries were taking their toll. Before Albany could let out another cry, a cannon shot off right next to her ears, and Albany jumped and then she tore away down the nearest path, into the maze, having just killed her first of many.

**-HungerGames-**

She managed to run for about an hour and a half before she completely broke down. Albany slumped down against one of the dark green hedges, clutching at her red hair with her fingernails. The plait became completely untangled and she yanked the band out, and along with it came the white rose Haymitch had tucked in her hair. That felt like a lifetime ago. She tucked it in her pocket for safe-keeping. Trying to keep herself calm, Albany ran her fingers through her hair, trying to disentangle it, but it was all stuck together with dried blood – dried blood from the twin from District Eleven.

She had a sudden flashback to the moment in the canteen when the boy from Twelve spoke to her about her quiet hostility. He did look incredibly similar to that of his sister, being twins and all, and with a shudder, she remembered how the girl's head had just been disengaged from her body. The last beheading had been in the 43rd Hunger Games, the first she could remember, at just seven years old. She had had nightmares just watching it.

What was she going to have now?

She didn't realize how easy it was to kill someone. She had been so bogged down in the ethics and the morality of killing someone who was trying to kill you back that she hadn't realized just how simple it was. And that made it so much worse. She had had to leave the knife behind, because she just wouldn't have been able to pull it from Lorna's lifeless form. That really would've been impossible. And yet but one day ago, she deemed her killing someone to be impossible.

And that's when it really struck her. She had _killed_ someone. She, Albany Larissa Vogel, had actually ended someone's life. Another child like herself, defenceless, weak, corrupted by Government and by society, who had no choice but to be her. And she had killed her. Yeah, it helped that Lorna had attacked her first, and yeah, it was technically self-defence, but that didn't stop the weight of guilt pressing down on her shoulders to the point where she couldn't move from where she was slumped. Tears began to fall thick and fast down her blood-splashed cheeks, and over her pursed lips, and she looked up, trying to prevent the tears, her breathing becoming more unsteady by the second. But she couldn't cry out, and she brushed the droplets from underneath her eyelashes and wiped them on her shirt.

_Now is not a good time Albany_, she warned herself, completely aware of attack from all sides being very likely. _Stop crying, come on, and look at what's inside the backpack. Then move, preferably before someone attacks you. _She had lost the pack during her struggle against Lorna, but had just managed to scoop it up in her fists before she ran, and now it was settled against one of the daunting hedges surrounding her. It hadn't occurred to her yet that this was a completely abnormal setting. And it hadn't occurred to her that she had no idea where to go from here on.

The pack was just grey in colour, and inside, the Gamemakers had been so totally helpful to leave her what – a tiny canister of gas, and some matches? The rest of it was made up by some huge sheet of polystyrene. What could that possibly do? There was no food, no water, and no shelter whatsoever. The only place for her to stay was if she could wriggle under one of the hedges. Even that wouldn't be safe from attack.

Albany had been so wrapped up in guilt and confusion, that she had totally ignored the tiny little silver parachute that had landed neatly right on top of the box of matches. When she was about to get up and leave, beginning to repack the bag, she caught sight of it and smiled. _Haymitch_, she thought happily, but then she frowned. How could she smile at a time like this? She pulled the little silver box towards her, and scrambled to unlock it before anyone approached. The night was settling in, and she felt extremely unnerved with the shadows playing in the corners. And she felt like those hedges were covering over her head, smothering her.

Her fingers were shaking so badly that she actually dropped what vital piece of equipment was inside the silver box. She picked it up from the dusty ground and did not understand. It was a dirty old shoelace that looked about twenty years old. This hadn't been bought for her by a sponsor, but sent to her by Haymitch. What did that mean? She had leather laces which were in perfect condition, so why the dirty lace.

And then she found the note. And things began to fall into place. There was a tiny blue card, still slotted inside the box, and Albany slid it out and read it, tears staining her cheeks once more.

_I miss you. I love you. Remember. –H_

She suddenly understood, the tears shaking from her cheeks when she jumped to her feet. The shoelace gripped tightly inside her left hand, she recognized, was Haymitch's token when he had been inside the arena four years ago. But then…the backpack? The gas canister and the matches? The gas canister and the matches. The gas canister and the matches!

She suddenly remembered watching the Quarter Quell inside the Community Centre alongside a one year old baby Annie Cresta; Haymitch had been given a gas canister as well, and had created a fire, and then a weapon. Forget the knife. She had a weapon! She could fight someone off with this easily, and without having to kill them either. Albany could not supress a smile, and she added the piece of card into her pocket alongside the matches and the rose. She unlaced her left boot, and replaced it with the lace from the silver pod, and pulled the backpack onto her shoulders.

She didn't feel confident, no, that was a step too far, but she was still alive. Day one, and Albany Vogel was still alive. She was still alive. She had listened to Haymitch's whispered advice, and followed it. She smiled up at the sky, and sent her love to Haymitch, and carried on walking down the pathway until she reached a T-junction cross. _Which way was the right way? _

Suddenly, the Capitol anthem began playing loudly within the arena, and Albany immediately diverted her attention back up at the sky, towards the pictures that were now being shown – all the tributes that had died this day. All gone were the girl from Four, the boy from Five, the boy from Six, both from Seven, the girl from Eight, both from Nine, and finally, the girl from Eleven. Nine dead, fifteen left playing. It was with a gut-wrenching pang that Albany watched Lorna Redway's face appear on screen, and she looked down at her fingers, still coated in the dead girl's blood. She felt physically sick. And then the girl from District eleven, whose head had been…well, she was…beheaded.

Without a second thought, and the only warning being a slightly acidic taste on her tongue, Albany turned to the closest hedge and threw up suddenly, not being able to cope with the recurring images of that girl's head just lying next to her. _Oh, for the love of Panem_, she thought, wiping her lips free of saliva and sweat and feeling empty and miserable, _how am I going to cope?_

_Well, you're not, are you? Not like this. Albany, you're eighteen years old. You're supposed to be in control. You ARE in control. Haymitch is watching over you, you have a weapon, and you're alone._

_The only trouble is, you're covered in blood, and probably going to die. _


	21. Twenty One

_For bigtimerangergirl123 :) by the way guys, this whole thing is un-beta'd, so when it's finished, I'm going to edit the entire thing and then re-upload it so it makes more sense (I changed some things halfway through and all). Enjoy!_

These were as much his Games as they were hers. It sounded almost selfish to say it – she was the one struggling for her life, being chased and attacked at random – but this was a partnership, and he had to work to his best ability to get her out alive. After all he had told her about the Cornucopia and _staying away from it_, she had remained there when the gong had gone. Anyone else would've been annoyed as hell that their life-saving advice had been ignored, but he knew that she had just been too shocked to move at all. And then, he had been so worried that she was going to be killed by that girl from Seven that he had dug his fingernails into his unshaven cheeks until they bled. When she managed to win the fight, and kill that girl, he was both proud and disappointed.

He was proud because she was still alive, and had managed to conquer her fear of hurting someone else. But disappointed purely because if – no _when_, he had to keep telling himself – she came out, she would never be the same. Of course she wouldn't, no one ever was, and there was no hope that she would win without killing someone, even if it was in self-defence, but the innocence that she possessed was just…gone.

He was glad she was alright now though. But he could see what she couldn't. This arena was deadlier than his, deadlier than any other he had seen before. There were traps everywhere, mutts lurking around every corner, _things_ hidden underneath the ground and underneath the bushes, and no potential source of food. Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. There had been the hideous moment earlier when the girl from District Four had run off done one of the lanes from the Cornucopia (having been denied by the Careers) and had been attacked by worm mutts, similar to leeches, which had suckered onto her legs and then crawled all over her entire body, eating away her flesh whilst she tried to rip them off. It didn't work.

He was watching her now though, with Mara by his side and Aaron on the other. All were on tenterhooks, but as the night began to descend upon the arena, they calmed down a little. Trey was seemingly alone in the arena, but only about two hundred metres from the Career camp. Like most of the remaining tributes, he had managed to clamber underneath one of the bushes, unaware of the mutt rats and worms. Haymitch couldn't care less about him anymore. Well, that was a lie, he could care, but he wasn't going to. What that boy had potentially done to Albany was unforgiveable.

Speaking of Albany, he was relieved to see that she had recognized the full potential of the gas canister and the matches. He was kind of sad to let go of the lace – it may sound sad, but it was the only real reminder he had of his father, and of Noe. He refused to let them go, and he wasn't going to let Albany join them. But she needed to rest now; tomorrow would be a struggle, with a large number of fifteen tributes left. She would need all of her strength, and she had no food. He wasn't quite sure if she could hunt. But she would have to.

'Well, I'm off to bed, wake me up if anything interesting happens!' Mara trilled loudly, as Albany began to settle underneath the hedge. Haymitch and Aaron glanced up at her; Aaron wished her a good night, and Haymitch just grunted, not taking his eyes off the screen, which was currently displaying the Career pack, camping in the dense maze. Mara looked a little disgruntled, but realized how important every second of this was for Haymitch. 'I'm bringing in my daughter tomorrow – she's got the day off school and wanted to come and watch the Games with us,' Mara added before she sauntered down the corridor and into her luxury bedroom.

Aaron looked confused and smoothed back his hair before turning to Haymitch, who was still staring at the screen, but with a bewildered look on his handsome face. Haymitch gradually detached his gaze from the giant screen, and looked at Aaron as well.

'She has a daughter?'

'Mara has someone who will put up with her?'

They both guffawed in unison at the idea of it, and at what each other had just said, but then realized the eccentric lady from the Capitol was being serious. Haymitch had never really stopped to think about Mara before. He had never wondered if she actually had family; he had never wondered if there was anyone she loved, if there was anyone that haunted her dreams in the night. If there were things she regretted, and people she loved. Haymitch had never thought about what Mara got up to in the eleven month break they had for another – in all honesty, he didn't think anyone would be able to put up with her for that long. Having a daughter turned her into a three-dimensional character of some sorts.

With an almost new perspective on things in the Capitol, Haymitch turned back to the screen to watch what exactly was going on. Mara had distracted him for a few seconds – not to mention that her daughter was coming tomorrow and would probably be a miniature carbon copy of her mother (_great_) – and he couldn't afford to do that anymore. He had to keep Albany alive, and trivial little issues would not help that.

Suddenly, a part of him ached for her. Even though he had known her for all but nine days, it felt so painful to be parted from her, especially in this way. He missed being able to lean over and caress her hair and her cheeks. He missed having her next to him, being able to give her a reassuring squeeze of the hand. But it wouldn't be long, he thought, before he would be able to do that again. He would have her back soon, she would be okay.

**-HungerGames-**

The night underneath the hedge had been – after spending eight days in a double bed with silk covers and goose-feather pillows – uncomfortable to say the least. There were times when she could feel things wriggling around her, and times when she heard tentative footsteps outside and she had to stop herself breathing until they dissipated. But she didn't sleep at all. Every time she flickered her eyelids shut, or when they just drooped shut out of exhaustion, she could just see…well, you know what she could see. She could weirdly understand why Haymitch drank so much. If someone offered her some whiskey now to stop her seeing Lorna or the head of that girl from District Eleven, she would take it without even saying thank you.

Overnight, there were no casualties, but by about six in the morning, Albany convinced herself it would be better to have a head start, especially with the footsteps she had heard during the night. The daylight was stunning and radiant after spending the night bathed in mud and leaves and seemed to scald her eyes slightly, but she quickly adjusted and pulled her pack from underneath the hedge. Pulling out the gas canister and the matches, Albany placed one item in either pocket and travelled forwards, trying to find some food of sorts.

After last night, and retching up half of the contents of her stomachs, she found her stomach screaming for some sort of nutritious item that she could stuff herself with. Surely there had to be some sort of animal or something here? Yesterday she had had the same thought, but now it was a more immediate issue. They say one of the worst days to die are dehydration and starvation, as well as mutilation and torture. And she faces all of these today, and every day that follows until she either does die or indeed she wins. She hopes, for the little beating heart of Annie Cresta, and the sanity and well-being of Haymitch Abernathy, that if she does die, then it is quick.

There is something about the maze that makes her feel unsteady and ill, and rather unsettled as well. Maybe just because it's the arena, and there are fourteen other people hunting her down, but there's something around her that just sets her completely on edge. Like if whichever corner she turns, _something_ will be waiting. She realizes these are the deadliest Games that the Capitol has ever devised, like they were planned especially to send everyone mad. With a shudder, Albany realized that even if she got out of here alive, she would be in the same mental state as Annie. She wouldn't be able to look after her again. She and Haymitch could live together, but they would never be happy. They would never be complete again. Nothing would ever be the same.

The sudden noise of flapping wings alerts Albany to the fact that there is a large flock of brightly coloured birds above her. They look slightly edible. Grabbing the knife from her pack, Albany squeezes her eyes shut to remove any traces of the tears she shed yesterday, and aimed for one of the large birds, choosing the specific one she will bring down. This time yesterday, she couldn't even think of killing an animal; in the time that had passed, she had killed a human being. One bird wasn't going to dent her self-esteem at all.

Albany flung the knife into the crowd, and with a loud screech, one of the brightly feathered birds – which reminded her so much of Mara's unfortunate wigs – came down right in front of her feet. On closer inspection, and when she brought herself to clutch the bird in her hand and pick it up off the ground, Albany saw that the bird was not really a bird at all. It looked like a sort of giant rat with wings that merged into its spine, creating some grotesque exoskeleton that she had managed to pierce. The bird suddenly twitched in her hand and let out a loud, strangled cry before it flopped limply in her hand. Albany barely had time to pull out her matches and start a fire before the shriek was reciprocated. But not by one, but by many, _many_ birds.

She had never seen mutts that had travelled in such a tightly knit group before.

The last thing she saw before she ran was the density of the hundred plus bright pink bird-rats all plummeting down in one second towards her.

She hurled around and sprinted down the skinny pathway, hurtling around the corners as the bird-rats descended to her head level and began chasing her intently, screeching and screaming so loudly she couldn't hear anything else. Albany threw the knife to the side, skewering another bird by accident and clamped her hands around her ears as she ran. She skidded around a corner and slipped to her knees, cutting open her leg, but she wrenched herself to her feet out of the dust and continued sprinting around the maze, not having a clue where she was going.

As was obvious, the birds began to catch up, biting at her legs and limbs and head. They began tearing at her skin, ripping holes the size of pennies all over her pale skin, and she threw away the empty pack which they seemed so intent upon tearing up anyway. She was beginning to tire – her lack of water and food becoming obvious as her energy levels dropped, and her speed did alongside. Blood was beginning to run in thin streams down all of her limbs, and a veil of sweat broke out across her forehead. In a last ditch attempt to escape, Albany jumped through one of the hedges into a completely different path, but just as dusty as the last. The sun was now glaring ferociously, like all of its energy was concentrated directly upon her and the leaves in the hedge seemed to pull about a thousand scratches across her skin. Albany fell out of the hedge onto the ground, slamming her hip and shoulder into the floor, sending shooting pains up her limbs.

The canister of gas flung out of her pocket as she tried to roll over, and the matches came out as well. Ignoring the sudden pain all over her body whenever she moved the slightest muscle, Albany fumbled for the canister and the matches, attempting to light it up, and, if necessary blow herself to pieces, as long as she could send these mutts straight back to hell as well.

But the hole she had created in the bush was too large, and the pink mutts came storming through the gap and over the hedge and started ripping into her again. Her arm was wrenched back, and the canister and matches went flying behind her. She laid defencelessly on the floor as bird-rats came from all directions, all scrambling to get to her. A dense flock of birds surrounded her, blocking her entire figure from the cameras. Somewhere, she heard Haymitch crying her name. Somewhere, she heard Annie Cresta crying into a new matron's shoulder out in District Four. She let out a pained scream as the birds relentlessly grabbed and tore at her. Through the crowd of birds, Albany lifted a hand out and then it dropped to the floor.

A canon fired.


	22. Twenty Two

_I am in someone's arms. The strength and way they carry me – as if I weigh little more than a feather – tells me they are not Haymitch, but someone else. I should resist, for all I know they could be trying to kill me. But it hurts so much. It hurts. But it is nothing in comparison for my want for him. I want Haymitch by my side, I need him now, I need him to hold my hand and tell me it's going to be okay. I need him to save me from drowning again. I need him. I've got to give him a message. I draft it out in my mind. _

_Haymitch, if I never see you again, then I want you to know that I love you. If I never speak to you, if I can never quite hear you, I love you. I never thought I would, I admit. But I will always love you. Suns will rise, and suns will set, days will pass, weeks and months and years, and I will love you. Even when I am gone, or when you are gone, or when we go together, it will be together. I could never live without you anyway. I don't have a problem with your drinking anymore. In fact, I think I might join you. Here's to us Haymitch Abernathy, one last toast._

_I have never been poetic, but surely a new talent on my deathbed is impressive. And who've thought it? Pink bird-rats. Not the most dignified way of doing things. But at least it's over for me. I'm so sorry Haymitch, my love, I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to love you. But the heart defies logic, common sense, and what you know to be the right decision. Those seven says were amongst the greatest of my eighteen years. Don't forget me; I will be a part of you forever. Goodbye._

'Last words are a bit premature there darling,' a snarky voice states simply, and with a sharp shock to the system, Albany opened her eyes instantaneously, the sunlight bursting within her sight and temporarily blinding her. _Premature_? Surely she was dead by now. She tried to ask whoever it was carrying her what was going on, but all that came out of her mouth was a faint moan and gasp of pain as her vocal chords grinded together. She coughed and blood splashed down onto her chin. She decided to remain silent and wait to be put down. The person walking and carrying her was tall and muscular, and it was a nice rocking sensation that sent Albany spiralling back off to sleep.

Three hours later, she was awakened by the strong scent of freshly cooked rabbit. Her eyes still ached far too much, alongside the rest of her body, so she chose to leave them closed for the time being. Someone was rubbing some sort of ointment all up and down her legs and arms, and she wondered why. Surely in the afterlife your wounds just fixed themselves. She mumbled unanimously to herself once again and heaved her body up, feeling first for the hedge so she could lean against it. When she finally found courage to open her eyes, she was lost for a moment in darkness, before she realized that it was early twilight, just before the sun was setting.

Heaven – a name for the afterlife she had learnt in a story from that book the Bible – still looked exactly the same as the arena, quite disappointingly in fact. She groaned again, but stopped herself when she caught sight of the tall, sturdy boy sat down next to her, chewing on a piece of meat that looked quite appetising. He looked a bit beaten up, with cuts everywhere on his body.

'How did it happen for you then?' she asked breathlessly, her limbs weighing her down. The boy, who had short black hair and dark caramel skin, looked puzzled and then made a fist and gently knocked on her forehead. She winced and he chuckled slightly. 'Wake up darling, you're still alive thanks to me.' His voice was smooth and luscious and exactly the tone she needed right now. Someone calming.

But she didn't understand – how was she still alive?

The boy seemed to realize this was playing on her mind and answered her question before she could ask it, choosing to silence her by placing his index finger on her lips. 'Listen here Miss Vogel. You're not dead. I saw you were in a bit of trouble, and I thought I might as well help you out. You're the only person here who I thought I could trust.'

Who does this kid think he's talking to? His sister? And that's when Albany recognizes him. He's the boy from District Eleven. The boy who has, no _had_, a twin sister. The twin sister who was beheaded at the Cornucopia. She recognized him from before that though. In training, during lunchtime, wasn't he the one who had given her the advice about being so hostile? Even so, he was crazy to trust her. She had killed someone. But then again, he might have as well for all she knew. She was suddenly very afraid that she was weak, and unable to escape if he tried to kill her.

She looked like she was in the exact same place as she had been with those bird-rat mutts, but she knew it was a completely different place. The night sky was pitch black now, dotted with synthetic stars, and she was glad that the sun was not shining upon her, burning out her eyeballs again. She hurt so much. It hurt to breathe. Tears began to collaborate in her eyes, streaming down her bloody cheeks and she choked them back loudly, lifting one of her arms to wipe them away. The boy from District Eleven smiled at her and handed her a pot of green cream.

'Your boyfriend sent you some stuff for the cuts,' he said kindly, and she hesitantly applied it, glancing down at her skin for the first time. She could not find one square centimetre of it that wasn't covered in black and blue bruises or bright red cuts or dark pink blemishes and scrapes. She felt like someone had grated her like a slab of cheese. She felt horrible. Why did she have to get reaped for this? Why was the Capitol so intent on hurting her? Why was everything so difficult in life? Her mother was dead, her dad left, Annie had been taken away from her and she would never see the man she loved ever again. Probably.

'Thank you,' she whispered, sitting up against the bush so she wasn't slumped at all, and just gazed at the boy who had saved her life. 'Thank you for saving me from those things. You didn't have to.'

'No, I didn't,' he reasoned, shrugging his shoulders, 'and yeah, it would've been easier for me to let you die. But it didn't seem right after…' His whole body seemed to go rigid, and one of the boy's fists curled into itself. Albany leant out a hand, wincing all the while, and placed it comfortingly on top of the younger boy's wrist.

'I'm sorry about your sister. I'm really sorry,' she whispered, her voice tremmoring at the remembrance of this boy's sister's head on the floor next to her. He nodded and she could feel his whole body shaking in either rage or depression, she couldn't tell. 'It's okay; not your fault. Kaya knew she didn't have a chance. None of us do, apart from the Careers,' he muttered and Albany gave a half-hearted shrug. No point denying it – he was right. He handed her a piece of sizzled meat, and instructed her to eat it. The meat was tough and dry, but it was the first bit of food she had eaten for about two days. The small bit of weight she had put on in the Capitol with all their rich and luxurious foods was gone, but it didn't matter.

'My name's Byron, by the way,' the tall boy muttered as they both ate. Albany nodded, but continued chewing on the meat until the faces of those who had died today started flashing up on the arena walls. Luckily, only one had died today – the girl from District Five. She had short dark hair and blue eyes. She was only thirteen.

As Albany ate, the sinking feeling in her stomach she had felt earlier on returned. The most horrific thing about the Games was that whenever someone died, it was a _good_ thing, something to be celebrated by the tributes because a young person had been murdered. And this sort of ally bond she had made with Byron would have to be broken at some point – whether someone killed either one of them, or if they had to kill one another. She would die. She couldn't stomach killing another person, even if it was by accident.

She had lost her fire. But then again, when did she have any in the first place?

'So Byron,' Albany said clearly, testing out her vocal chords, her body slowly adjusting to the movements she would need to be making, 'Where did you get the food from? I didn't know there was anything here that you could properly eat.' Byron looked at her, his seemingly dead eyes becoming even darker and he was hesitant to say it. Albany looked down at the grease on her battered hands and then her eyes widened to an unimaginable degree.

'Those…mutts,' Albany stated loudly. Something suddenly hit her. 'How? How did you even get me out of there? I thought I was dead…' she trailed off, twisting her face into an expression of discomfort which made her cheeks sting.

Byron rummaged around in the backpack Albany recognized as the one she had torn off her back during the chase. He pulled out a silver canister, and a packet of matches that was now half empty. He pushed them over to Albany, and when she picked them up, confusion patched across her cheeks, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. 'I had to burn them all. Like your mentor did a few years back, he used the matches and set the gas alight.'

Albany nodded, and pocketed the canister and matches. But Byron still held onto her wrist, and she brought her head back up and gave him a _what-the-hell?_ kind of a look. The boy looked solemn, too solemn for someone of his young age. He was only fifteen, just a kid – he was too young to have to experience this kind of torturous _sport_. At this age, he should still be naïve and childish and _protected_. Not sentenced to death by his government. But the way he looked at her, and the way he was, unnoticeably, cutting off the circulation in her wrist, she could tell something was wrong. So she cocked an eyebrow, and waited for an explanation.

He wasn't one to waste time.

'When I used the matches to light the gas, the flames were so huge and they went even through that pack of birds, and caught onto you. It didn't stay there, but it burnt your face a little,' he stated clearly, although she could sense the regret in his tone, and the way he avoided eye contact with the older girl sitting opposite him. She had been very beautiful before the attack, and she still was, but fire-damage always made you look different. Byron winced as she pulled a hand up to her cheek and felt the skin. It was inflamed and red, and covered the left side of her face, from her chin, across her nose and eye, and into her hairline. The cream Haymitch had sent helped heal the cuts, but not the burn.

Inside, Albany was horrified, but this boy had saved her life – she wasn't going to make him feel bad. She was still alive – it didn't matter what she looked like. It didn't matter. 'Don't worry about it Byron,' she whispered, pulling on the small twigs inside the hedges above her to pull herself to her feet. She looked down the small pathway, leading to another T crossing. 'Come on, we've got to start moving.' Albany took one light foot forwards and then collapsed into Byron's arms.

'Come off it darling, you're in no fit state to be going anywhere,' Byron joked lightly, although he was quite worried about the girl. She was eighteen, yeah, but she was a bit useless. She wasn't going to last long. But he was a gentleman, and he was going to make sure she lasted as long as possible. Of course, if it came to it, he would kill her to go home. He had broken his promise to his mother to get Kaya home, so at least he could give a chance to either himself to escape this hell, or this girl from one of the outer Districts. He knew what it was like to lose someone you love, and it never heals. It always hurts.

Suddenly, ripping through the barrier of sound, a low-pitched roar came hurtling through the hedges to where Albany and Byron were resting. Goosebumps trickling up her arms from the horrifying noise, she whipped her head around painfully to the direction from which the scream had come from. And then, again, another shriek emanated through the maze, and this time came the slashing of knives, or swords, and the repeated terrified screaming. And then there was silence. Shortly followed were the haunting laughs of four people, and their heavy footsteps as they blundered away.

'Okay sweetcheeks, changed my mind. You're right, we've got to move. Now,' Byron commanded, putting his arm around Albany's waist and swinging her right arm over his neck. He stamped out the fire and pulled the rucksack onto his back and, as quickly as was possible, they began hobbling along the path, desperate not to bump into anyone. They were vulnerable right now – they couldn't handle meeting the Careers, or anyone else who was on a killing rampage. Ten were dead, which meant there were twelve hunting them, including the five remaining Careers. And with only Byron able to fight – it didn't matter how good he was – they wouldn't last long. Albany knew she was nothing but a hindrance, and if she ever got out of here alive, she would owe her life to Byron from District Eleven.

Albany's body felt like it was on fire as she tried to steady herself and walk quickly, but perseverance was something she was good at. In those six weeks in solitary confinement after attacking Donna all those years ago she had managed to stay sane, she had managed to survive on the lowest amount of food, and she had been a mother to Annie since she was just a child herself. She had survived this far and no damn amount of cuts and bruises were going to stop her.

Every step she took felt like someone was beating her to death, slamming her against a wall until she couldn't move and every bone in her body was broken, but she had to keep going. Someone, or something was near them, near enough to kill someone else, and they couldn't risk being attacked. The night sky made it more difficult for them to be tracked, but Albany knew they were moving too slowly and too loudly. She didn't understand why, but this year there seemed to be no sense of urgency in the arena. Maybe it was because the place was the size of the Capitol, and it was unlikely that you would bump into another tribute unless the Gamemakers chose it, but there was something more. Something more sinister. Like if you didn't pay attention at the right time, someone would jump out right behind you and slit your throat.

They travelled for about half an hour before they came across the body. The boy from Ten was young, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Too young to be subjected to this kind of torture anyway. The Careers had obviously been in high spirits when they found him, and although his body was stained in blood, his hands were still trembling. Tears were still tracing his cheeks. A fire had given him away in the dead of night. A basic mistake, but one that anyone would pay dearly for.

The stench of already-rotting human was terrible, and it was all Albany could do to keep her earlier meal inside her stomach. She couldn't afford to lose food again. Carefully, they both approached the boy, who did not seem to notice they were there.

Byron assisted her onto the floor, where she sat cross-legged next to the boy's head. She didn't quite know why they were doing this, but it seemed right. This poor child had been beaten to a pulp, stabbed over ten times and left for dead but still alive. Albany brushed her hand through his hair, comforting him slightly, and the hum of his heart inside his chest vibrated on her knee. His eyes found hers, and she could see him screaming for death. The agony that he felt was too much for him to bear any longer, and Albany found tears trailing down her cheeks as he silently begged her for mercy. She looked in devastation at Byron, who was holding the boy's hand. She opened her mouth to try and say something, but all she could feel were salty tears dripping into her mouth and down her burnt chin.

'What's your name?' Byron whispered gently, slowly retrieving the knife from Albany's backpack. The boy looked calmly at the weapon, knowing that his time was ending, and for that he was glad.

'Louis… Louis Cartwright,' the boy stuttered. He looked back up at Albany, who was holding his other hand and stroking his hair. 'Please,' he whispered, and she nodded, her tears dripping slowly onto his pale cheeks. As smoothly as possible, Byron pushed the knife into the boy's chest. Louis Cartwright gave one final shudder and then fell limp in Albany's arms.

Byron retracted the knife as the young child's canon fired in the distance, and wiped the blood off on his shirt. Albany slipped painfully from the ground, lying Louis Cartwright's head down on the ground, and closed his eyelids shut. _No child deserves to die like this_.

With generous assistance, Albany clambered to her feet and, hand in hand, she and Byron set off once more, as the sun rose in the distance, and the body of Louis Cartwright was taken back to his family in District Ten. He was safe now.

_;D Nope, she's not dead. Admit it, I had you there didn't I? I thought the end of this chapter was probably my favourite part of the story so far – I like to think it was quite good. Next time, we meet Mara's daughter…Spoilers!_


	23. Twenty Three

_All of you who are reading and/or reviewing this story, I love you. Seriously. You are the nicest people I've ever met, and your compliments really do make my day. I churned this chapter out especially for you guys. I hope you enjoy :)_

Byron Hammel from District Eleven was, from now on, Haymitch Abernathy's favourite person.

When she had shot down that bird, he had been relieved. She had found food. She could hunt quite well ("well" was pushing it), and she was going to be okay. But then those mutts chased her. They reminded him of the pink birds in his Games, the second Quarter Quell, the ones who had speared Maysilee Donner's throat. The arena may be different, but these Games held a disturbing likeness to his own. He knew they had done it on purpose. The canister, the matches, the pink mutts. _Everything_. They were taunting him.

And then the chase began. With every foot she put forward, his heart stopped, afraid that with every beat of his heart, she was one second closer to death. When she jumped through the hedge, the glass of water – _just_ water – he had been holding onto crumbled to dust in his fingers. When they descended upon her, their razor sharp teeth glinting in the bright sunlight, Mara had put her hand in his own, knowing that another death was coming, and he had almost crushed it.

When that canon had fired, he had been so...so…scared. Scared he had lost another one. Just like Noe, his brother, his mother, those one hundred miners, and his previous six tributes. He was just scared he had let someone else down. For a brief moment, he was hysterical. He put his head in his hands and tore at his hair, scratching his face, digging into his cheeks, making himself hurt. And then that boy had appeared. Haymitch had thought he had arrived to hunt down Albany, but when he grabbed the canister and fumbled to light the matches, Haymitch rose to his feet, and clenched his fists, waiting for the result.

The Hammel boy saved her life. He owed him everything. If anything…happened to Albany, he would be sending everything available to Byron. She was safe for now though, she was okay. She was okay; beaten up, battered, bruised and bleeding, but alive and able to recover. Immediately, he ran to the nearest open bar and began rabidly speaking to potential sponsors. He told them of Albany's misfortune, and how she could die from her injuries. Mentors had used this tactics before, but targeted people who were not up to date on the Games and fool them, but he was diabolically worried again. She had not looked good coming out from underneath that flock.

Her face had been burnt to a point where she looked disfigured, and every inch of her beautiful porcelain skin was damaged. Two days in, and he didn't even recognize her. Her only distinguishable feature was that luscious auburn hair. But the strands that he liked to tuck behind her ear whilst she was sleeping was singed off. She was falling apart, and he couldn't put her back together. All he could do was preserve the bits of her that were left.

At first the sponsors were reluctant, but after a while, Haymitch began to realize that not all the Capitol citizens were delusional bubbleheads. In about an hour's time, he ganged together fourteen sponsors in order to purchase some ointment so Albany's cuts and bruises would heal soon. He sent them down in a little parachute, and on the blue card inside he wrote the words:

_Byron, thank you. This is for her bruises. –H_

He watched with the sponsors as the teenage boy received the gift, and gave the slight inclination of his head towards the nearest camera. That meant he understood how grateful Haymitch was. The sponsors wished Haymitch luck and he left to go back to his room, relief crushing his heart. As he was leaving, one of the younger women walked over to him, and said, 'I hope she gets out. For you and for her. I can't imagine what it's like for you two.' She had smiled sadly at him, and then gone back to who he presumed was her husband. If the Capitol hadn't deposited the girl he loved into an arena to be murdered by her peers, he might believe that the place was actually half-decent.

The room that the District Twelve team watched the Games in was very similar to their apartment in the Tribute Tower, but a lot smaller, with only three separate rooms – a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchen. It had a direct pathway to the main Capitol building where all the tributes were brought when they were deceased, and was again on the twelfth floor. It was lavishly decorated, with crystal chandeliers and grand mahogany tables and silk covered furniture. The carpet was bright blue, like Mara's eye shadow, and the ceiling was ridiculously fancy. Everything looked like it cost more than Haymitch's alcohol bill did.

When Albany finally woke up, and the camera switched to the other tributes, Mara decided that now was the finest time to introduce her daughter.

Her daughter was not what Haymitch expected. Blonde, petite, and short; she was the complete opposite of Mara and her towering structure. She was young, around seventeen or eighteen, and in normality, she looked human in comparison to Mara's freaky clown-like masquerade. She was pretty, and wore a simple blue jumper over bright pink leggings (at least it wasn't her skin that colour) and black flat shoes. Mara brought her into the room, and the first person the young girl caught sight of was Haymitch. She whispered in her mother's ear, Mara chuckled, and then thought now would be a good time for loud introductions.

'Everybody, this is my daughter Effie,' Mara said proudly, beaming as she showed off her nervous daughter like a dog at Crofts. 'Instead of having the day off, her school has decided that the entire student body will be given time off until the end of the Games. Now isn't that lovely?' she continued, and Haymitch groaned internally. That meant the girl would be here every single day until the end. Brilliant. That's just what he needed…another Capitol vulture to put up with. Well, maybe that was a _little_ harsh. She couldn't be that bad.

When Effie came and sat between him and Aaron, he briefly said hello and introduced himself, but then turned back to the screen where Albany was just realizing how badly her face had been damaged. It was like a machete through his stomach to see her that injured, and he didn't realize that he had tears brimming on the very edges of his eyelashes until Mara's girl whispered to him, 'It's okay Mister Abernathy.' Before Haymitch could retaliate about how stupid a thing to say that was, she put a hand on top of his and squeezed it gently. He had not expected such kindness from someone like her. Normally, citizens of the Capitol were too repulsed to come this close to him.

'I'm just so worried about her,' he whispered back, unable to stop himself voicing his fears about the girl he loved, 'I'm so worried she's going to die.' He looked up from the screen into the pale blue eyes of Effie Trinket, the daughter of the woman he so openly distrusted and she smiled at him. There was something in that smile – understanding or something. Not pity, but empathy. He decided, there and then, to trust Effie Trinket. Even though these weren't the Games, Haymitch felt like he was trapped inside the arena again. But now he had an ally. And he was going to get Albany out.

On screen, Albany and Byron were beginning their long trek to find the boy from District Ten. Effie joined in a polite conversation with her mother and Aaron, who she seemed to know from some other time. Maybe, later on, he would join them. Maybe he would sleep first. He needed some rest. He hadn't slept since these Games started, and the lack of alcohol he had endured in the past two weeks was taking its toll. But there was no way in hell he was going to start drinking again during these Games. Albany needed him – he knew it, and she knew it. He was determined to see her again, so he could kiss her again, even if it was the last time.

The Games change people. They make them go crazy, or deluded, and most Victors turn to something to appease their pain. Haymitch turned to alcohol, Bay turned to tobacco and drugs, Chaff – a Victor he had encountered last year – had begun with morphling. They all needed something to survive. And he was terrified that, if she got out of this hell-hole, his love for her wouldn't be enough.

After all, how many Victors had killed themselves after winning?

**-HungerGames-**

Walking was painful, but the mental images of the boy from District Ten were even worse. Killing out of pity was worse than deliberate murder, but it was still a huge weight on her conscience. And her own body was weighing her down as it was, let alone her guilt as well. She and Byron were continuing to trek through the maze, but there seemed to be no end to it. The place was literally so large that it was impossible for anyone to find one another. She wondered why the Gamemakers had designed the arena like this. Three days after the beginning of the Games, and nothing had physically changed inside. Maybe soon it would change – nearer the end. To have a bloodbath at both the beginning, and the end. A dramatic finale to beat all finales.

During the four hours they had been walking – trying to find some source of food – Albany's skin had taken to a kind of blue shade, making it look like her entire body was covered in light bruises. But her cuts had healed over, the deepest only tiny thin scar lines like the ones you still have years after an accident. Her bruises seemed to have dissipated into the blue, and she guessed that was just a side effect of the ointment. It didn't matter. Looks were not something that was going to help her survive. The pain she had primarily felt was evaporating as well, and every step was becoming less and less excruciating.

In all honesty, Albany was more bored than she was terrified. Every twist and turn they took was exactly the same, and it felt like nothing more than navigating around. The only scare was that they would be ambushed, and even that was very unlikely due to how large the arena was.

Death was scary now – starvation and dehydration was. There was no food or water sources inside the arena, and Albany was too terrified to go anywhere near the bird-rat mutts again, for fear they might this time finish her off. She was parched though, and even when he kept hauling her along and encouraging her, she knew Byron was as well. Unless they found water soon, they wouldn't be here to find out if the arena ever changed.

'Byron, we've got to get some water,' Albany muttered, as she finally disentangled herself from him and began to walk on by herself, limping steadily to keep her balance. 'I know,' he chattered back, his eyes turning towards the sky. Midday was fast approaching, and they had been praying for rainclouds, and all they had received was sunburn. 'I don't want to go out from dehydration,' Byron continued, 'Not after Kaya. We've got to keep going.' Albany nodded, and from then on, the main objective was water.

Although what they actually found turned out to be far more helpful.

But late evening, the effects of malnourishment and dehydration were beginning to take toll on the two tributes. Byron, who had seemed fit as a fiddle up to this point, was struggling to keep up his continuous pace, and was panting more than necessary, finally turning to the bush and wrenching out a large branch to use as a walking stick. It gave him splinters and blisters, but was effective.

Albany too was suffering, but her immune system was more developed, having lived in a Community Centre where health and safety was obligatory and vaccines for diseases had been handed out. Also, they had been short of food many times in the twelve years she had been there, and when Annie had been younger, Albany had sought to feed her rather than herself, because she couldn't cope if she lost her. She and Byron had talked earlier, and although he wasn't rich, his father was one of the heads of the Agricultural Force who patrolled the harvesters, and so they had never been short of a meal. He was strong, but struggling.

For the first time, coming from District Twelve looked to be an advantage.

As they continued their journey, cutting through the thicker hedges with the knife Albany had procured (Byron had rescued a bow from the Cornucopia, but had lost the arrows, so the only use for it really was to…well, strangle people), the night was once again seeping in. This day had been a complete waste, and had used up invaluable stores of energy which they could no longer hope to reciprocate. Shuffling to the ground, Albany rested her legs for a moment, when Byron suddenly choked in pain as an arm was forced around his neck, holding him in a death grip, with the tip of a knife scratching against his back.

Albany didn't have time to scream or react before she leapt to her feet and instantly grabbed the knife from the ground. Byron was struggling against the arm, but it obviously belonged to someone of immense strength. Him being so tall have Albany a distinct disadvantage as she couldn't see who was choking him, and so words were all she had to go on.

'Let him go. If you kill him, then I'll kill you,' she shouted, glad to hear that she sounded, at least, extremely serious at what she was suggesting.

'Oh really? Could you do it, or are you too much of a wimp?' The voice was strong and deep, but it definitely belonged to a girl and a young one at that. The girl pulled her other hand up and placed it on Byron's head, with the supposed intention of breaking his neck. 'If I kill him, would you do it? Could you?' she asked scathingly, the voice shuddering through Albany's body. She could pretend all she liked – this was a question of morality. And she couldn't lie about murder.

Albany looked into Byron's young eyes, deep brown still shining with the spark of life, and all she could see was his blind panic. In the last thirty six hours or so, this boy had helped save her life. He was the reason she was still breathing. And he was the reason why she had to stop doing so. He was stronger than she was, and if she wanted anyone to win, it would be Byron.

'Look, if you want to kill anyone, then…just kill me. Either way you and one of us are going to die. It's your decision. Who would you rather take out?' Albany exclaimed, and for the tiniest moment, she saw the muscles that were rippling around Byron's neck hesitate and then alleviate. And that moment of doubt was all that they needed. Byron took a large breath and kicked the girl in the knee, and she stumbled blindly in pain. Byron wrenched her arm off him and threw the girl over his shoulder, temporarily knocking her out. Albany wielded the knife in front of her and Byron ran behind her, coughing loudly, heavily breathing in and out.

She took a look at the girl, who was beginning to clamber to her feet, but unsteadily and wobbily. She had long, thick brown hair and was quite short, probably around fourteen. But she was incredibly strong to be able to hold Byron like that, so they needed to be wary of her. The girl stood up, the side of her head bleeding freely, her face covered in dirt and cuts. She looked almost savage, and she probably was after three days in here. Without warning, she lunged directly at Albany, a shriek emanating from her throat, but the redhead had been expecting it and grabbed the teen round the waist, twisted her around and held her with a knife to her throat.

'Now listen to me,' Albany grunted as the girl squirmed viciously. She jammed the knife even tighter against the girl's throat and nodded at Byron to stand on the other side in case she escaped. It was time for her to grow up, and show the Capitol what she could do. What, if she was brutal, she was capable of. 'Listen. If you even move, you die. Okay? Tell me what your name is.'

The girl was still growling, but when Albany asked her what her name was, she seemed to start whimpering in fear. Albany felt quite bad for what she was doing to a fourteen year old, but she had tried to kill Byron, and one less contestant was not necessarily a bad thing. 'I'm Una, Una Mire,' she stuttered out, stumbling over her words, looking down and eyeing the glinting silver blade pressed against her throat. She let out a cry and tried to wriggle away, but Albany yanked her back and tightened the blade once again, a few beads of blood appearing on Una's throat.

'Which District?' Albany asked, although her rigid tone was beginning to evaporate, and her pitying side was making a not-so-welcome reappearance. Now was not the greatest time for happy Albany, she was trying to improve her credibility, and give herself an edge, make herself look less weak.

The girl squealed in pain and then yelled out, 'Six. I'm from Six. Transportation.'

'Have you got any food, water, or anything? Can you hunt?' Albany asked gruffly, although her grip was loosening with every second that passed and it was all she could do not to let the girl go and apologize.

'Yeah, yeah – I've got some…stuff from my sponsors,' Una muttered, and Byron checked the bag she had left behind one of the hedges before she leapt onto Byron. She was telling the truth – inside the pack were at least two litres of water and some game that had been roasted. Byron held it up to Albany confusedly – where the hell had she gotten that stuff from? There were no animals inside the arena apart from the mutts, and Una bore no real trace of being attacked.

'Okay, here's the deal,' Albany said clearly, taking away the knife from the girl's throat but still holding her tightly so she couldn't escape. The girl seemed to appreciate the leeway she was being given, and decided not to struggle this time. 'Here's the deal. Right, we let you live, and we ally together-' at this point, Byron gave her a startled look, but she ignored it and continued '-and you show us where you got your game. We team up, we feed each other, and we look after one another. All three of us. Now, what do you think?'

'I think maybe we should consider…' Byron began reasonably, but Albany shook her head and snapped back. 'No,' she called over to him, 'this is how it's going to work. I'm the oldest out of all of us, so we're going to listen to me.' For the first time in the arena, Albany felt like she had authority.

'Okay,' the girl gasped, 'I promise. I'll ally with you.' Slowly, and very cautiously, Albany released the girl, and she fell to the ground, her knees a little weak. Albany bent down, and helped pick her up, and the impossible alliance of two became three. Albany from Twelve, Byron from Eleven, and Una from Six – a force to be reckoned with.

Four hours later, when Albany was still awake on guard duty (one person had found them – they had to be close to others by now), a little parachute came spindling down to earth. Calmly pulling it open, Albany released a sheath of sturdy silver arrows that matched the bow that Byron had obtained at the Cornucopia. Scanning for a little piece of blue paper, just a piece of Haymitch that she could cling to in these lonely nights, she caught sight of it and read it. She smiled, and her heart soared.

_Good job kid. -H_


	24. Hiatus Notice

**I know I haven't updated this story for over three weeks now, and I'm so sorry to do this to you guys, but I'm going to have to put this story on hiatus for a while. I just have no passion for it at the moment – I know what's going to happen, and I have the remaining 12 chapters planned out, but I just can't seem to find the right mind frame to write them at the moment.**

**I'm really sorry, but I can guarantee you that I WILL NOT BE GIVING UP ON THIS STORY. Not at all. It might take a while for me to resume writing it, but I have four exams soon, and I'm super busy with D of E and other stuff. I'm so sorry, and I hate that I have to do this, but I want the last few chapters of this story to be brilliant, and I hope you can appreciate that it's better to wait a long time for something good, then not have for wait for something awful.**

**I want to thank everyone who has written a review; this story had surpassed my expectations for it in every way. Thank you for all your support, and I promise I'll be back before the summer holidays.**

**Issy, x**


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